


Take Me Home

by miyaji_08



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, M/M, Magic!AU, cafe!AU, supernatural!AU, witch!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyaji_08/pseuds/miyaji_08
Summary: Where Oikawa and Akaashi run a magic cafe, Bokuto and Kuroo are familiars, and everyone is cursed.
(Kenma just wishes they would all get together already)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here is another long one~ I hope you enjoy it! Please, comment! I love and appreciate any and all feedback. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated~ also, feel free to comment any questions you have about the fic/if you want to know more!
> 
> read the notes at the end for Kenma's curse (contains minor spoilers??)

There is a place where the road ends.

Kenma’s shoes press against the hard pavement, the tips of his worn sneakers barely off the edge of the curb, the wind rolling patiently between his fingertips. At his feet Kuroo preens in the breeze, his black fur shining in the dim sunlight. He appears unconcerned with their intended course of action, though flexibility is in his nature.

Well, Kenma supposes, there’s no place to go but forwards. With this thought in mind he begins his trek up the cliff, the pavement where he once stood receding back into the forest to wait for its next passenger.

The cliff is set by a calm, sparkling ocean only ten minutes’ walk from the nearest town. It is coated with tall, light green grass that sweeps beautifully in the wind, and a scattering of various trees. Just before its peak sits a quaint two-story building with large windows and an impressive sitting deck smothered with plants. Several figures lounge in the outside seating, unconcerned with the testy weather.

As Kenma strides forward, mindful of Kuroo weaving through his legs, he feels his throat hurt. He wishes immediately to open his mouth and scream.

Silently, he approaches the cafe that makes up the first floor.

“Ah,” one of the baristas, a little man with short blonde hair and sharp green eyes, says. He sets a tray of cookies down for a customer and meets Kenma at the precipice of the awning. “Hello. Sorry, but if you’re here for the Specialized Herbal Remedies, the owner is unable to make any today. I just asked.”

Kenma says nothing. The barista, who apparently is a customer instead and whose eyes begin to glitter different colors in the dull noon lightning, frowns.

“Okay then,” he takes it in stride. “Sit down wherever you like and I’ll grab you a menu and some milk and cookies to start out, yeah? The actual barista’s got his hands full right now, so don’t worry about it.” Without asking he nudges Kenma inside, leaving the little man perplexed as to why he suddenly craves cookies. 

As soon as Kenma sits down Kuroo leaps up into his lap, curling up into a ball and shifting into sleep. Kenma rests his hand on Kuroo’s soft, warm belly, letting the steady breaths relax him as he adjusts to his new environment.

“Hello!” 

Kenma barely manages not to recoil.

Sitting across from him, wearing a barista’s apron and dangerous smile, is an infuriatingly pretty brunette. He has cold dark brown eyes, soft white skin, and near-black wavy hair that is naturally flawless. Kenma really wants to pinch his cheek.

“First thing’s first, here’s your order!” The ravenette sweeps his fingers in the air and a plate of oven-warm chocolate chip cookies floats smoothly onto the table. “Don’t you know it’s rude not to say thank you?”

Kenma says nothing.

The ravenette, his eyes shifting to Kenma’s throat, smiles knowingly and leans forward to rest his chin on his hands. “Ahh, I see. You’re the one Boku-chan sent.” He sighs. “Well, Aka-chan can’t help you today, so that’s that.”

The ravenette makes to get up, practically gliding out of his chair with his unnatural grace, and nearly steps away when Kuroo’s eyes pop open and he jumps onto the table. His presence makes the ravenette jump and sit back down, eyes narrowing.

“A familiar…You’re also a witch, huh?”

Kenma doesn’t reply.

The ravenette leans back in the chair with a gaudy sigh. “Fine, fine, I’ll see what I can do, then. Don’t expect too much, though, because compared to Aka-chan I’m going in blind.” He winks at Kenma, but the other can tell that he’s serious about helping. “I’m Oikawa, by the way. Not that you’ll get to call me that any time soon.”

Again, Kenma says nothing.

“Hm. Well, if you must know,” Oikawa grabs one of the cookies and bites into it, using his other hand to scratch Kuroo’s neck. Kenma reaches for a cookie of his own, thinking that Oikawa is not as busy as the other customer made him out to be, or perhaps is simply easily distracted. “Aka-chan is in a bit of a predicament himself. He’s cursed, see, by the same person who cursed you.”

Kenma’s eyes widen. _He knows who cursed me._

With a light grimace marring his pretty face, Oikawa leans in and whispers, “by the witch of the lake. It’s not hard for _me_ to tell.” He leans back out again and crosses his arms, as though even the name stirs up resentment. “Aka-chan loves his magic, you’ve probably noticed, so she cursed him with darkness. The more magic he uses, the darker it gets. His heart, that is.”

Ironically enough, it’s at that moment that Oikawa turns and uses some magic to clean up a table for a pair of exiting customers. When he turns back his expression is oddly intimidating.

“I’m telling you this, since you’re probably wondering, because you’ll be spending a lot of time here the next few weeks.” He says airily. “Don’t question it, I can just tell.”

Kenma eats another cookie. It melts in his mouth like butter, soft and warm and sweet. His throat feels better, too.

“Oh, yeah. I put a little magic in those while they were still in the oven, so they’re probably helping some.” Oikawa runs his hand over Kuroo’s back, smoothing the fur there. Kuroo purrs contentedly under the ministrations, settling onto his stomach for more rest. “Anyway, I’ll call Boku-chan and have him find you a place to stay. Unless you want to give up, try breaking your curse somewhere else?”

Kenma shakes his head, and there’s something like pity in Oikawa’s expression. Guilt, perhaps. Those two things often come hand in hand.

“Alright then.” Oikawa gets up, pushing his chair back in as he does. “I’ll be back in a bit, I guess. Bring you some tea or something, since that seems more like your style. Oh! I’ll bring you one of my specialties! And then some…”

Kenma tunes out as Oikawa walks away, absorbed in his own magic. His hair seems darker than it did at the beginning of their conversation, for some reason. 

_The witch of the lake._ Kenma thinks. With nothing else to do but wait, he makes himself comfortable in his chair and pulls out a gameboy. Light from the window behind him makes it difficult to see the game, but he doesn’t mind. Besides, the window gives him a view of the ocean, massive and beautiful.

 

xxxxxxxxx

 

There is a Waiting Man. He stands in front of the lake; he’s made of stone, but oddly realistic. Almost too perfect for Kenma’s liking.

Kuroo is tucked into his shoulder bag for now, sleeping soundly. To his left, the silver-haired familiar named Bokuto is watching the Waiting Man with wide eyes. Even that silver hair reminds Kenma of an owl, the locks straight and feathery.

“Wow, this is really good!” Bokuto chirps, doing a walk-around of the Waiting Man. The statue’s feet just barely touch the surface of the lake, which evidently has no tides. He is as still as the lake’s surface. “What do you think?”

Kenma stares at him fondly. _Idiot._

It takes a few seconds for Bokuto to realize. “Oh, that’s right! Sorry!” He looks back. “You think it’s happy, don’t you? Like, relaxing.”

Kenma’s eyes widen in shock, and Bokuto laughs it off.

“Haha, I’ve always had a knack for guessing that stuff! That’s kind of strange, though! I’ve always thought he was sad!” He takes a step back, folding his muscular arms over his chest. “Yep! I definitely think that. Must be lonely, sitting out here all alone with the lake witch. I wonder what he’s waiting for.”

They stand there and watch the Waiting Man for a few more minutes in silence. Once the wave of sudden lethargy passes over them, Bokuto turns.

“Well,” he says, “now you’ve seen the lake! The lake witch is usually here, but she’s been, like, leaving more, lately. Maybe that’s why you got cursed, you probably crossed her on a bad day!” He laughs lightheartedly. “Anyway, lets go back to the cafe. I wanna see Akaashi! I got a message from Tooru earlier that he’s out and about today! Oh, Tooru is Oikawa, by the way! You can call him that t—well, er. Once they get your thing figured out, they…” Boktuo continues talking, but it’s mostly to himself now.

Sighing, Kenma reaches down into his bag and lets his hand briefly rest against Kuroo’s soft, warm body before pulling out a pen and paper. He quickly scrawls out, _I need a place to stay._.

Bokuto takes the paper when it’s offered to him. “Oh, yeah! Sorry! You totally didn’t ask to go to the lake, did you?” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. When Kenma shakes his head, the familiar blushes. “Sorry, sorry. I wonder who asked me to show them…anyways! You can stay with me in town, my place is pretty big.”

Kenma bows politely since he can’t simply tell the other man ‘thank you’. It makes him clench his fists; as if sensing his master’s distress, Kuroo makes a purring noise and sticks his head out of the bag to peek out. His sharp yellow-orange eyes assess Kenma’s mild troubled expression with worry.

With his lips set into a schooled line, Kenma goes to pet his head. Before he can, though—

“Is that a cat? I love cats!”

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

Akaashi has many features similar to Oikawa’s. He has pale skin, inky blue eyes that are only several shades from black, and jet black hair. Unlike Oikawa, however, he wears his traits with a natural element; he looks very comfortable in his appearance. He reminds Kenma of the stereotypical witch—wearing a stretchy white-button down and black pants, the sleeves folded up to his elbows, with a quiet and mysterious atmosphere. 

When they walk in, Akaashi barely glances in their direction. His hands work bread dough into a thick slab of wood, flour puffing out every so often.

“Bokuto-san, please stop petting wild animals.” He says flatly. Kenma thinks he might be in love.

“But Akaaaaashi~” Bokuto whines pitifully, “he wasn’t wild!”

To Kenma’s amusement, Akaashi’s eyes look up and zero in on Kuroo immediately. The cat familiar is in his human form now—the tallest of the four of them, though not by much, with long limbs and lean muscle. His tan skin and warm brown eyes contrast the cooler tones of the rest of their group.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says dismissively, “if you are not going to stop petting wild animals, at least refrain from bringing them into the cafe.”

“Roasted,” Kuroo taunts, leaning into Bokuto’s space with ease. The other familiar makes a high-pitched whine and grumbles, “well, at least _I_ didn’t get called a wild animal.”

Kuroo gets a dangerous glint in his eye. “Ohoho? Who says I’m not?” He smirks, leaning in with his eyes stuck to Bokuto’s. Before anything can happen, Akaashi ducks over the counter and karate chops the space between them.

“No PDA in my cafe.” He says. Kuroo snorts and leans back.

“What do you call _that,_ then?” He asks, jerking his head over to the corner. Oikawa is settled onto some poor guy’s lap, a flirtatious expression on his face as he leans in close and brushes their lips together.

“That’s…” Akaashi’s expression falters, his mouth twitching. “That’s different,” he says finally. 

“Hm…” Kuroo’s eyes flash and he gets a feisty look in his eye. As he stalks over to the bubbly ravenette Kenma has to suppress the urge to stop him. “Hey there, beautiful.” Kuroo draws Oikawa off the man by the hip, flattening his palm there and tilting Oikawa’s chin up with his other hand. 

Kenma tilts his head sideways because—well, they’re an interesting combination, the two of them. For a moment, when Oikawa looks up in surprise, his eyes flash in the light and look almost golden, instead of dark brown. 

“Oh?” Oikawa’s eyes simmer down and he leans into it with a coy smile. The man whose lap he vacated makes an annoyed scoffing noise and shuffles his chair away from them.

“Tooru!” Bokuto exclaims, pouncing on both of them. Kuroo breaks his intimidating aura to stop them all from falling over. “Tooru, guess what? They agreed to stay over at my place! We’re gonna have a sleepover!”

“ _You’re_ going to have a sleepover, you mean.” Oikawa corrects. “I have plans.”

“Tooooruuuuu,” Bokuto whines, “stargazing doesn’t _count_!”

‘Stargazing?’ Kuroo mouths to Kenma, obviously amused by the their antics. Kenma has to admit, he’s more than a little charmed.

“Sorry about them,” Akaashi apologizes quietly. “They can be overwhelming if you don’t know them.”

Kenma shrugs. 

“If you’d like, you can come behind here and take a moment. There’s a stool you can sit on, it’ll give you distance from other people.”

Kenma smiles at him gratefully and moves around the trash trio to the other side of the counter. When he sits down on the stool he watches Akaashi’s hands steadily pound the dough in, mesmerized. 

“I could ask Oikawa-san to do this with his own magic, but I find it always turns out better if someone does it by hand,” Akaashi explains softly. His voice is soothing, and by his stance and the way he moves he gives off the air of someone who finds it very cathartic.

Taking the moment of peace, Kenma begins to reflect on Akaashi’s own situation. How difficult must it be to carry such a weight of choice? Kenma himself has no option but to live without magic, as his voice is gone. But Akaashi can use magic, he has that decision. Except, if he does, his heart will become dark. Still, his punishment seems much crueler, to Kenma.

He wonders why the witch of the lake did it.

“Hey!” Oikawa squeals, and it draws his attention. Without context, this is what he sees: Oikawa’s wrists pinned in the air by Bokuto and body pressed between the two familiars, eyes watering with tears of laughter as Kuroo leans tantalizingly closer and tickles his sides.

Kenma wants no context. The three of them together is like a strange fantasy come to life.

“Ah,” Akaashi’s breath hitches, and Kenma hides a twitch of the lips. “S…sorry about them. They can be a little—“

Kenma raises his hand and the other witch falls silent. _It’s okay. I’m glad they all get along._

“I…” Akaashi watches the trio with a warm, flushed expression. Kenma really wants to smirk at that, but it would ruin his otherwise ‘innocent’ appearance. 

Ha. Innocent.

“Iwa-chan, help!” Oikawa cries, and immediately the man sitting at a table nearby flinches and looks up. With tan skin, thick eyebrows, and a strong jaw, he’s opposite of Oikawa to a nearly comical degree.

Amusingly, he takes one look at the situation, scoffs, and flicks his eyes back down to his book. “No, idiot. Fix it yourself.”

Kuroo laughs loudly, then dissolves into coughs when Oikawa kicks him in the shin. “Oi, don’t mar my beautiful caramel skin!” He half-chucks, half-groans, motioning for Bokuto to release their captive. 

“Then don’t gang up on me!” Oikawa pouts, and is about to say something else when a little man enters the cafe. “Kunimi-chaaaan!” He sings, dashing away. Kuroo and Bokuto watch him go with mystified expressions.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Bokuto blows hair through his cheeks. “Man, he gets excited easily.”

Akaashi snorts. “I don’t think anyone wants to hear that from you.” With that, he slides the bread into the oven and continues about his day.

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

It doesn’t take long for Kenma to fall a little bit in love with them all. Not even a day.

Well, safe to say he doesn’t actually _love_ them—Oikawa, Bokuto, and Akaashi. He simply loves them as people, and feels a sense of devious pride thinking about ways to get them all together.

“You have that look in your eye,” Kuroo drawls. “Should I run?”

They’re currently lounging in the little guest bedroom Bokuto designated to them. The owl has a homey living space; he wasn’t lying when he told them he could fit them all comfortably. Everything about it screams warm: the soft, worn-out quilt, the little flowerpots sitting on the windowsill, the smell of day-old pastries bought for cheap from the cafe.

Kenma is lying on his back in bed, mind running through everything that’s happened. On his stomach on the floor, basking in the sunset streaming through the window, is a tired, content Kuroo.

Kenma glances over at him with a blank look, but he knows Kuroo sees through it. The familiar yawns and stretches, before muttering, “too tired to…” and shifting.

As his form becomes significantly smaller Kenma tries not to feel guilty. Although having his magic suppressed has been difficult, he knows Kuroo must also be suffering. But in terms of the curse, he’s mentioned nothing, hasn’t complained once.

Hopefully, the other three will be able to take care of him the way Kenma wishes he could.

A knock at the door draws his attention, even as he rolls off the bed to scoop Kuroo into his arms. He shuffles the cat into a more comfortable cradle before opening the door.

“Oh!” Bokuto’s eyes snap down to the sleeping familiar. He’s wearing only boxers, which have little plants on them. “Sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t realize you guys were so tired.”

Kenma shrugs. 

“I just—if you guys are hungry or anything, help yourselves to anything. And…oh, and if you guys get cold there’s more blankets in the closet. And…” Bokuto can’t stop staring at Kuroo. “Sorry, it’s just…can I pet him?”

Huh?

“He’s just so cute, and I love cats, but Akaashi never lets me keep them around and I’ve never held one while it’s sleeping.”

Kenma wants to say that petting a cat and holding one is very different from actually having one, but he can’t, so he doesn’t. Instead he smiles encouragingly and nods at the couch behind the owl.

“Yay!” Bokuto cheers quietly, retreating to the couch. He sits down and nearly bounces in his seat, watching with anticipation as Kenma slowly makes his way over.

Kenma doesn’t know if he wants Kuroo to be awake for this, but he’s leaning towards no.

As he sits down, he reaches out a hand to make Bokuto sit still and then prays that he won’t do anything too rambunctious, like knock Kuroo off his lap.

The second Bokuto has Kuroo curled up on his thighs, he practically melts. His eyes go gooey and he smiles like a million watts, and when he looks up at Kenma, the other nods.

“Aww,” he coos, softly petting Kuroo’s head. Slowly but surely, the black-haired familiar begins to purr. It’s low and relaxing, and makes Kenma want to curl up on the couch and fall asleep himself. 

After several minutes, Kuroo shifts slightly. The movement has Bokuto hurriedly throwing his arms up in the air, and they both freeze and watch Kuroo in tense silence. However, Kuroo just makes a high-pitched mew and stretches out over Bokuto’s lap, thin limbs extending all the way out and sagging in that position. He stops moving after nuzzling into Bokuto’s knee.

Bokuto looks like he’s reached nirvana. 

“I have been blessed by the cat god,” he whispers, near-silent, moving his hands around in the air like he wants to pet and cuddle Kuroo but also doesn’t want to disturb him. “I can die happy.”

With how content Bokuto looks, Kenma really wants to pinch his cheeks. It only takes a moment to scrounge up a pencil and notepad from his pocket, and he scrawls, ‘do you move in your sleep?’

Bokuto’s eyes become so wide it’s almost scary.

“R-really?!” He whisper-yells, leaning forward. “I can sleep with him?!”

Kenma knows _that’s_ not what he’s talking about, but he almost wishes it was. He barely hides his smirk as he nods. Bokuto lights up for a second time, looking down at Kuroo with a wide, happy smile as he carefully gathers the cat into his arms.

“Thank you so much,” he whispers, awed, and then ducks out of the room.

Kenma just smiles.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

The moment Kenma approaches the cafe, Bokuto and Kuroo flanking him, he feels a surge of relief. All around the cliff is a heavy, oppressive aura, and it seems the only oasis is Akaashi’s little shop. Even Kuroo, who suffers a lack of magical sense from the curse, is shifting uncomfortably and glancing around. Kenma can almost feel the familiar’s tension permeate the air; he puts a hand on Kuroo’s wrist to ground him. After a little motioning, Bokuto does the same.

They can barely see inside the windows, but what they can see through some sort of magical barrier is an empty store. Before they can turn away, Oikawa opens the door and leans halfway out. 

“Come in,” he says hushed, urgent voice; it contrasts the noise coming from behind him. His expression is fierce as his eyes gaze past them into the distance, like he’s staring out at his lifelong enemy. “Hurry up!”

“Sorry!” Bokuto jumps, momentarily transfixed by his friend’s strange behavior. They rush inside.

The cafe is in a strange state of disarray. It’s oddly busy, with almost every table taken, and there are definitely more seats than there were before. Orders float through the air via Oikawa’s right hand as the barista closes the door with his left, and almost everything seems to be in motion.

“‘scuse me!” Oikawa chirps, sliding between Kuroo and Bokuto to get back to the heart of the chaos. One of the men sitting down, a pink-haired guy with a sleepy-eyed companion, slaps his ass as he passes them.

“What the hell?” Kuroo grumbles, affronted by the noise. He’s never been a morning person.

“Hey!” Oikawa jerks forward, grabbing a customer mid-transformation from a person to a crow. He yanks the redheaded boy back down and turns to them. “Just sit down wherever, and—“ he sniffs the air and turns to Akaashi. 

“Do it.” Akaashi says, and even though Oikawa has to shout to be heard over the noise of the bustling crowd, Akaashi barely has to raise his voice. 

“But—“

“ _Oikawa_!” 

Kuroo grabs Kenma’s hand and presses them both into the nearest wall just as another customer, this one a shock of blonde hair and piercings, leaps into the air and transforms to a seagull mid-flight. Unfortunately Bokuto lacks the senses of a cat, and he nearly gets a face full of feathers.

“Ugh!” Oikawa groans, shoving Bokuto over to stomp over to another table. The seagull has landed there, on the wrist of a towering man with oddly-cut hair and tan skin. 

Oikawa sticks out his hand. The man stares at it before moving his intense eyes to the other.

“Just take it!” Oikawa growls. “Don’t think this means anything. If Iwaizumi were here—“

He cuts himself off with a grimace. In the background, Kenma wonders how they know each other.

He wonders if it might complicate things.

The man stands and claps his hand into Oikawa’s, and it’s like someone flipped a switch. Everyone in the cafe stops moving, staring at where the two hands connect. Electricity sparks in the air.

“What’s happening?” Kuroo whispers to Bokuto, but the white-haired man is staring, too. 

Oikawa and the stranger take slow steps around everyone to the front of the cafe, people and familiars and spirits alike parting like the red sea. 

With a swift movement of his hand, Oikawa telepathically throws open the door. Wind whips into the cafe, sending papers swirling and the customers nearest the door scattering. Odd, considering when Kenma entered the cafe the sky had simply been a calm gray. Now raindrops get whisked into the warm space, spraying even into the back.

“Agh!” Oikawa exclaims in surprise as the wind gets incredibly strong. He’s gripping the stranger’s hand enough to make his knuckles white, and even though they’re both leaning into it the wind pushes them back a few inches with brute force. “You are going to _listen to me_!”

The wind roars in Kenma’s ears where he and Kuroo are tucked to the wall, and he instinctively grabs Bokuto’s free hand and pulls him closer to them.

“This,” Oikawa coughs, whipping up his free arm to cover his face from the rain, “Akaashi, this—“

“I know,” Akaashi grunts, and Kenma’s eyes widen. When did the quieter mage move to Oikawa’s side? “Almost.”

“Seriously,” Kuroo hisses through the chaos, “ _what_ is _happening_?!”

Kenma doesn’t reply, his mind captivated. He can’t help but stare at the three witches, as Oikawa closes his eyes and lowers his arm so he can hold Akaashi’s hand. Everyone else in the cafe is tucked into the walls, watching in anticipation. There is such power, such immense potential in the trio it almost makes Kenma’s eyes water.

“How long do we have?” The stranger asks brusquely.

“Five seconds,” Oikawa grits. “NOW!”

Kenma’s breath stutters as his body physically _feels_ the snap of magic in the air. 

True to Oikawa’s word, it only lasts for five seconds.

The stranger takes two heavy steps forward and the wind howls and fights as it gets spiritually manhandled closer and closer to the door. Akaashi raises a glowing black hand and everything in the cafe freezes: rain droplets hang in the air, a stray newspaper is frozen in flight. With a flick all of it goes tumbling out the door, which slams shut when the stranger throws his arm sideways.

Kenma processed all of this, but never saw it. No, he was watching Oikawa. He thinks he gets it now, what’s off.

Interesting.

 

 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

 

It takes two hours for things to settle down, and by that time most of the customers are long gone. Kenma watches from his seat by the window as Akaashi calmly wipes down the long wooden table near the back. The veins in his hands look dark, like they’re filled with oil.

“So, what is it?” Kuroo asks as Oikawa approaches them with a tray held high enough to hide the contents. He and Bokuto are claiming the other half of Kenma’s table, balanced precariously on one stool. 

Oikawa blinks slowly at them—after all the excitement of the morning, he must be exhausted.

“Hmm,” he says, setting it down. “Cookies—chocolate chip, ginger snap, lemon-iced, and almond-caramel. There are chocolate hazelnut brownies over there, marble ones on this plate, and those are hand-tarts—the bread kind, with stuffed cheese, mushrooms, and spinach. Oh, and actual lunch will be out in a few.”

They stare at him in shock. 

“Haha! Your faces are funny,” he smirks at them provocatively. “Some of them have an extra…touch, in them. Oh! And here,” he hands a thick ceramic mug over to Kenma with a gleam in his eye. “Specially made. I haven’t worked with tea magic as much as Akaashi, so you’ll have to wait if that’s what you want. But I think you’ll still like this.”

Kenma studies the contents of the mug: it’s warm, thick brown liquid. Coffee? But it smells like something different, something…

He takes a sip and stops breathing.

There’s sunlight on his skin, warm, but a gentle breeze to keep him from getting too hot. In the distance he can hear the roll of waves over a rocky shore.

He opens his eyes. He’s standing on a rolling hill of dark green grass. The wind nips playfully at his cheeks before dropping down the hill to the sparkling water. When he looks behind him he sees a quaint little town built from cobblestone and sand-cement. Light shines down on the stones and bounces up, creating a kaleidoscope of shadows.

He takes a short breath, and suddenly he’s back in the cafe. Bokuto and Kuroo are watching him curiously; they look so cute, their expressions perfect twins, the owl and the cat. Bokuto’s arms are looped around Kuroo to keep him from falling off.

“Special mix,” Oikawa chirps knowingly as he sweeps around the cafe, making little touch-ups.

Kenma nods in appreciation, taking another sip. His throat feels lighter already, as if a small burden has been lifted. He’d love to see the other’s magic at full power.

“Hmm,” Kuroo narrows his eyes. He waits until Akaashi loads up a tray of croissants to the oven before slumping into Bokuto’s lap, staring at the other witch lazily. “So, what was that earlier?”

Akaashi flinches. His eyes shoot over to Oikawa, whose smooth form hiccuped before resuming normal movement.

“The witch of the lake gets bitchy sometimes,” Oikawa answers flippantly. He’s not facing them.

“She has surges of power.” Akaashi quickly intervenes. “Power she cannot contain in even the lake. Something has to be done with it.”

“So,” Kuroo says, “storms?”

“Storms.” 

“Big ones,” Bokuto adds. “Like, that wasn’t even too bad this morning.”

Kenma wonders about the unfamiliar witch, the one with the seagull familiar. 

“Ah, that would be the resident bookstore owner,” Akaashi says as if reading his mind. “Ushijima Wakatoshi. He has a bit of an…interest, in Oikawa-san.” Hmm? Kenma raises his eyebrows in curiosity, watching Oikawa like a hawk. 

“Did it have to do with that hand-holding thing?” Kuroo asks.

Akaashi nods. “Oikawa-san is extremely talented at Enabling magic and, as it is an unusually precise and custom-handled trade, Ushijima-san has been asking for his partnership for quite some time.”

From where he’s sifting sugar behind the counter, Oikawa scoffs. When he finishes up and walks around to pat the dust out of his little barista apron Kuroo grabs him by the hips onto his lap. Bokuto whines under the added weight.  
 “Bro,” he says, voice muffled by Kuroo’s neck, “this might make my legs snap off.”

“Hey!” Oikawa snaps childishly, “I’m as light as a feather!”

“Yeah, a one-eighty pound feather,” Bokuto grumbles. He’s smiling though, and Kuroo grins too. Kenma watches them happily.

“Ah, I—“ Akaashi is cut off by a series of coughs. He covers his mouth with his fist and when he finally settles down, his hand comes away splattered with a strange black substance.

Kenma feels a chill down his spine.

“Excuse me,” Akaashi says hurriedly, backing away from the table and retreating upstairs to where the apartment half of the building is located. Oikawa shares a glance with all of them before muttering, “just stay down here,” and squirming free of the familiars to go after his boss. 

Looks like this won’t be easy, after all. Kenma frowns.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

It seems the cafe often has strange occurrences such as that, Kenma notices. Although it has only been several days since the witch of the lake last had an outburst, something is already brewing again. He can feel in in the thickness of the air, and wonders what is coming.

“Ahh, I wish Akaashi would take a break already,” Bokuto whines into Kuroo’s shoulder. They’re bunched up together on a little stool on the other side of Kenma’s table.

“Bro, you literally see him like every day.” Kuroo reminds him.

“Doesn’t matter! He should rest more!”

“Well, no arguments there.” Kuroo shares a look with Kenma, and this is why they get along so well. They don’t even have to speak to really understand each other.

Suddenly, the lights hanging from the ceiling flicker, and the shelves begin to rattle. Light gives way to the shadows, which become long and stifling.

“Not again,” Kuroo groans. “Seriously? Didn’t this just happen like two seconds ago?”

“Mmm,” Bokuto frowns, sniffing the air. “This is different.”

The door slowly creaks open and Kenma can feel every pore in his body practically scream with the urge to _get away_. He turns in his seat to see who entered the cafe and his heart stutters.

She has long, greasy black hair that sweeps down in a slick sheet to her elbows. Her eyes, which might have been a pretty gray-blue in the light, are an oily black in the shadows. A once-pretty form is addled with black robes, thick black slime, and a sheen of strange goo. She walks slowly into the cafe, like each leg is weighed down, and keeps her eyes peeled to the counter.

The witch of the lake.

As she hobbles over to the counter Kenma shifts to watch Akaashi; the raven-haired witch is doing a good job of masking his averse reaction to the lake witch’s horrible stench. His face is schooled into a cool expression as he flicks his eyes to the trail of slime she leaves.

Oikawa, meanwhile, does literally nothing to disguise his disgust. He turns his cheek up haughtily and glares at her from where he’s floating a couple trays of scones around. Then he scoffs at her.

“What the hell,” Kuroo hisses. Goosebumps run up and down his tan arms, and Kenma notes that he has unconsciously shifted himself between his master and the witch. 

“Shh,” Bokuto whispers, not needing to raise his voice for once. With the presence of the witch of the lake, the entire cafe has fallen into an eerie silence. Kenma is certain if he were to drop a pin, he would hear it hit the ground. “I want to hear what she says.”

They too fall silent.

 

She orders tea brewed specifically by Oikawa. The money she drops into Akaashi’s waiting palm is nasty, rusting and covered in her slime. Watching her communicate is strange. Although her mouth is open—revealing gross, blackened teeth—only garbled, foreign sounds come out. Regardless, Akaashi doesn’t seem to have any trouble understanding her. 

Oikawa’s expression is sharp as he prepares the tea, fully aware that almost every pair of eyes in the cafe are now on him. He holds himself with impeccable poise.

“Does she come here often?” Kuroo asks quietly, obviously debating if they should try and break the curse elsewhere. Kenma’s heart rate rises in fear; he finds Kuroo’s hand and squeezes it.

Bokuto shakes his head, eyes still on the witch. “This is…I’ve only seen her out of the lake like twice. She’s never come in here before.”

“Can’t they just refuse to service her?”

“Bro,” Bokuto says bluntly. “You and I both know that’s not going to happen.”

Kuroo bites his lip and glances over at Kenma. _I don’t like this._

Kenma squeezes his hand again and smiles briefly. It calms Kuroo down, if only a little. They’ve always had the rare ability of silent communication, one that comes only with time and familiarity. 

Silent once more, they all turn and watch Oikawa prepare the tea. It’s an odd blend, one they haven’t seen before. Akaashi is hovering just behind Oikawa, murmuring instructions and tips that Oikawa accepts with a graceful nod. A thin, clear aroma fills the air. When they finish with the tea, it remains a crystal-clear liquid, yet something about it is different. Oikawa places the thick mug onto a tea plate and swiftly carries it out.

Now that the witch has stopped lurking at the register, holing up near a window far away from Kenma, the customers begin to chatter once more.

“She smells horrible,” Kuroo mutters, folding his arms over his lanky torso. Oikawa seems to share the sentiment—as he walks the tea over, his face falls into a grimace.

“Here you go!” The raven-haired barista chirps as he arrives, and now that the delivery is basically done Akaashi turns away from watching the exchange to attend to other customers. Realizing his boss is no longer watching, Oikawa leans in with a cool expression and hisses, “I hope you rot in that lake you old hag.”

Kenma’s eyes widen. He’s never seen such a…chilling look on someone’s face. A look so full of hatred and spite it could sour milk. Especially not on a persona like Oikawa’s.

“Ah, uh,” the trio turns as a guy sitting in the table next to them—Iwa-chan, if Kenma’s to remember correctly—slides his chair over to talk. “You guys look shocked, so I should let you know he’s always that rotten. He just hides it inside.”

“You know Oikawa well?” Kuroo asks, interest flickering in his eyes.

“We’re childhood friends, but I was also his familiar for a long time.” He blinks. “Oh! I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, by the way. You can just call me Iwaizumi.”

“Kuroo.”

“Look, just. He means well, but that part of him,” Iwa-chan jerks his chin towards the lingering sourness on Oikawa’s face, “isn’t going to go away any time soon.”

“Why not?” Bokuto asks. He looks confused as to why Iwaizumi is sharing this with them, but Kenma has a feeling. One that tells him he’s not the only one rooting for the two baristas and the two familiars to get together. 

“He hasn’t told you?” Iwaizumi sounds surprised. “He’s cursed.”

They stare at him. Kenma feels the breath flush out of his lungs as his brain processes this new information. Oikawa is cursed? Is that why his appearance seems so out of place, so dark and hollow? Why is he still able to use magic? Does it pain him? Will he still be able to help Kenma, since Akaashi can’t?

“H-he’s what?” Bokuto stutters.

“He’s cursed,” Iwaizumi repeats, eyes on Oikawa. The barista is fluttering around the cafe, smiling his charming smile and sweeping his soft black hair behind one ear whenever it gets moved. “Whoever falls in love with him will never make him happy. No matter who loves him, it’s destined to be unrequited.”

“You mean he’s…he can’t fall in love with someone who’s in love with him? Which means he can only fall in love with people who aren’t?” Kuroo asks slowly, taking time to depict the familiar’s odd wording. Kenma’s heart drops at the cat’s tone; he can practically feel Kuroo burrowing into himself.

“But he’s trying to break it, right?” Bokuto asks.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Who knows? If he is, he never told me.”

Kenma feels Kuroo’s fingers tense in their linked hands and works over them soothingly with his thumb. After a few moments he nudges Bokuto with his foot and gets the owl to take up the other hand. 

This, Kenma thinks, is slightly more complicated than he first assumed.

 

xxxxxxxxxx

 

“You’re staring at them,” Oikawa says quietly. Rain pounds against the glass windows, and the witch of the lake sits elegantly in her chair. Her tea sits empty on the table; most of the gross goo covering her form has dripped off like oil, an effect of the tea’s magic. Underneath, her remarkably unblemished skin is visible, her eyes glittering underneath the swampy substance like black diamonds.

She is staring—specifically, at Kenma. There’s something sad in her gaze.

“You know,” Oikawa says, “with that look on your face I’d say you cursed him on purpose, Kiyoko-chan.”

The witch glares at him, but he just glares right back. Oikawa breaks it after several moments and glances over at the windows. It might thunder later, he thinks.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

 

When Kenma closes his eyes, a weak attempt at evading the witch’s unyielding stare, the world changes. Thunder rocks the air around him like the beats of a heavy drum, and the world is inky and dark. Electricity rides in the wind.

He can’t tell where he is, or where Kuroo is. Something about this seems off—Kuroo always invades his dreams, whenever Kenma doesn’t his. They’re always together. Being without the familiar feels like someone’s sliced off a limb, and he shivers.

Something in the distance moves.

Kenma can’t make it out and moves forward. His legs ache and he looks down to see he is ankle deep in balmy sand. 

He opens his mouth to shout at the figure ahead of him and—

His throat clenches shut and he winces and grits his teeth. Slowly he makes his way closer; there’s a sound of choppy waves hitting the beach. Salt thickens the air.

It’s Akaashi. He’s standing thigh-deep in the murky, dark waves, watching the horizon with blank eyes. Water laps at his hips testily. His drawn form is thrown ever-so-slightly by the growing waves, and the wind curls its sharp fingers through his hair. His pained eyes are unblinking.

Kenma feels the skin of his throat boil. He takes a step forward but a hand clamps down firmly on his shoulder, keeping him rooted and watching from afar. With a quick glance he sinks into relief: Kuroo. The familiar’s own eyes are pinned to Akaashi.

An owl screeches nearby. The water swirls and Kenma blinks and it is no longer Akaashi but Oikawa sinking into the waves. They slap Oikawa’s body with violent claps, then spray like tendrils that threaten to drag him under. Kenma makes another move towards the water, feeling he must do something, but again Kuroo holds him back. Just when he finally gets free and begins to shift forward the sheer force of nature hits him, startling him into taking a step back.

_There is more at work here than you know._

Kenma’s eyes fly open.

The cafe has resumed it’s usual chatter—due, in part, to the absence of the lake witch. She’s left a wake of goop, algae, and smell that has Oikawa flapping his hands around, spiriting a couple mops into action. Akaashi is wiping down the counter where she ordered, simultaneously checking the oven to see if his bread is done.

“You okay?” Kuroo asks, still holding his hand. Kenma opens his mouth and lets out the air in his lungs, just now realizing how they burn. Squeezing twice, he shakes his head. Kuroo nods and turns to Bokuto and Iwaizumi with an easy grin. “Okay guys, I think that’s enough chaos for one lifetime. I’m ready to head back now if that’s cool.”

Bokuto’s eyes gleam. “If you’re tired, you can just sleep in my lap!” He exclaims excitedly. Kuroo’s grin sags a little as he recalls a not-so-long-ago memory.

“As awesome as that sounds, I really don’t feel like getting suffocated.”

Kenma raises an eyebrow the same time Bokuto turns bright red.

“T-that was an accident! I just—I rolled over in my sleep, okay?! It’s not like I hurt you!”

Kuroo cackles as they get up to leave, and Kenma can’t help but smile as Oikawa goes to see them out.

 

xxxxxxxxxx

 

The next day, the cafe is closed. Lukewarm wind rustles their hair and Kenma has to hold up a hand to keep it out of his face; he really should cut it soon. Bokuto looks surprised. He peeks through the windows, but they’re all foggy and can’t be seen through. 

“Kenma can open it, if you think they’re in there,” Kuroo offers. “He knows most lock-picking spells in their wordless form.”

“…wordless form?” Bokuto blinks.

“Y’know, wordless. Developed for mutes?”

Still confusion. Kuroo sighs, “it’s the only magic that’s wordless because a bunch of genius thieves sat down and figured it out. Makes their job easier when they’re burglaring if they don’t need to speak out loud, you feel? And—you know what, doesn’t matter. Kenma? You wanna do the honors?”

Kenma nods and steps up to the door. With a simple swish of his hand the lock slides over for him, and the door pops open just a tad. Kuroo leans over him to open it all the way.

Oikawa glares at them from where he’s washing the counters and watering the many plants and vines which inhabit the cafe. He looks tired and pale, worn of life, and there are dark circles under his darker eyes. His hands are lethargic as they magic the chores away.

“Breaking and entering?” He asks them in something that’s more of resignation. “I thought you better, Ken-chan.”

Kenma shrugs. Kuroo cackles at that, fading into light snickers as he sees how worn his crush is.

“What’s up?” He asks. “Why’re you guys closed?”

“Kei-chan had an, ah, bad night last night. Relax down here if you want, but just…you’re not allowed upstairs. Customers are customers, okay? Can’t let you in the employee zone.”

With that, Oikawa shoots them an exhausted smile and finishes making a tea they hadn’t noticed. He sweeps around them to grab it and excuses himself with a little wink, slipping up the stairs in the back to the apartment above.

“Is he…?” Kuroo murmurs, settling into a chair by one of the windows. Bokuto joins him. Hesitating, Kenma loiters by the register to keep an eye on the door at the top of the stairs.

“I’ve never been here after one of Akaashi’s bad days,” Bokuto admits. He looks nervous, fingers pressed against each other. 

“Should we be—“

Kuroo gets cut off by the sound of shattering porcelain, and it startles him to his feet. He shares a glance with Kenma before all three of them rush towards the stairs. Before they reach them the door swings open.

Oikawa walks stiffly down the stairs with a fed up, hurt expression. Tea drips from his apron.

“Go up and see him if you want,” he snaps. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled!”

With that, he shoves past them and resumes his chores. Kenma notes his shaking hands. The ravenette also left behind sticky black footprints.

The trio ascend the stairs cautiously. They notice, to Kenma’s chagrin, that the farther up they go the more wisps of shadows, like black dry ice fog, lick at their ankles. It sends goosebumps up Kenma’s bare legs, and he immediately regrets wearing his rarely worn capris.

By the last few steps, the shadows are so thick and massive they cling to Kenma’s thighs in a sticky, cold mess. Kuroo reaches back and takes his hands to make sure they don’t get tripped up. They both keep an eye on Bokuto, who leads them. He swings the door open.

The room might have once been beautiful. There is a large window that overlooks the sea, and the decorations are simple but pretty: an elegant chestnut desk against one wall, a bed with a thick and intricate quilt, and a bedside table with a clean glass vase of lavender. There might be a carpet under their feet, if the extra padding is to be trusted.

It is hideous.

Black shadows cling to nearly every surface in what the humans of old might call ectoplasm. Like giant spiderwebs they slant between the walls and the floor, and drip down from the ceiling. Looser shadows smother the ground like thick mud, so gross and messy they can’t be seen through. The stench is horrendous and stifling, only worsened by the balmy air and sealed windows. There are glittering jewels inside of the shadows, jewels of all sizes and shapes and colors, but inside their context they seem ugly and fake. Dust swarms the air like mosquitos, flying in patches and unsettled by the presence of the four newcomers.

Akaashi, coated in shadows and the whites of his eyes stained near-black, is curled up on the bed. The sheets are ripped apart, and there might even be stuffing raising out of the mattress. Broken mug shards litter the ground. They look more valuable than the jewels they lay beside.

“Get out,” Akaashi growls. He does not raise his voice, but it echoes as if shouted and holds a terrifying, dark tone. Limbs curling, he hisses at them like an animal once before continuing to speak. “Leave me _alone_!”

Kenma finds Kuroo’s hand gripping his like a vice. When he turns, the cat’s eyes are wide and very shaken. Bokuto, for once, is expressionless. He is also the first of them to move.

He scoops away the shadow muck and wades through it to the bed. Most of his movements are jerky and abortive, very unconfident, but he manages to make it to the bed. When he raises his hand Akaashi cowers away and snarls like an animal, shoving back farther until he’s pressed to the corner of the bed. His hair is so slick with black oil it leaves an impression on the wall behind his head.

Bokuto doesn’t stop, though he does hesitate. He just keeps going until he’s there and reaching towards Akaashi.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ” Akaashi screeches, his limbs scrambling to push Bokuto away. He scratches and struggles as Bokuto forces him back to the edge of the bed with a worried frown. Then Akaashi is getting hoisted to his feet.

He snarls again and pushes violently at Bokuto’s chest before hanging his head low and gagging. Kenma watches in horror as the other spits out a slew of oil and little jewels, the hands once pushing away now gripping Bokuto’s shirt for support. Bokuto makes a gutted noise and rubs Akaashi’s arms and back.

“Shh,” Bokuto murmurs as Akaashi coughs up the last of the vile waste. Then he’s wrapping Akaashi into a hug so tight he can’t properly struggle.

For a tense moment Akaashi continues to try anyhow, hands digging into the sensitive parts of Bokuto’s back with viciousness Kenma didn’t think possible of the other man. But the moment passes and suddenly the ravenette sags into Bokuto’s arms like a tired and frightened animal. Ironic, considering which of them is the familiar.

Kuroo and Kenma watch them uncertainly from the other side of the room. Below them, Oikawa sits in one of the windowsills downstairs, staring out at the bottom of the cliff, knees tucked against his chest and a mug of steaming green tea resting on them. He sighs tiredly and closes his eyes.

 

xxxxxxxxxx

 

Oikawa appears in the stairway after a long wait. Kenma still remains with Kuroo towards the back of the room, but by this time Bokuto has a sleeping Akaashi draped in his arms like a princess. He’s sunk to his knees, brushing Akaashi’s hair out of his pale face.

It seems very intimate, now. Tenderness surrounds the pair; every trace of cruelty and violence in Akaashi is completely gone. Now he sleeps on with a surprisingly peaceful expression, eyebrows slightly raised. Compared to before, he seems less vulnerable.

Wordlessly Oikawa steps through the shadowy mess to the pair, offering Kenma and Kuroo a sad smile as he does, and kneels by his boss and Bokuto. 

Slowly, he wipes some shadow off of Akaashi’s cheek. Then, as if realizing his own actions, he snatches his hand away and stands up.

“The bathroom is through that door,” he says quietly, gesturing over towards a door next to the one they’d come through. “Go shower this off while I clean it up.”

Bokutos stands with Akaashi still in his arms and says, “I’ll make sure he gets cl—“

“No!” Oikawa snaps, his own eyes flashing a vibrant gold. Surely Kenma must have imagined it? “Sorry, I—at least grant his pride this, okay?”

With a stubborn frown Bokuto opens his mouth to refute. Before he can Kenma and Kuroo step in.

“C’mon, Bo,” Kuroo says. He hooks an arm around Bokuto’s shoulders.

“…Fine,” Bokuto mutters. He shoots Oikawa a frustrated glance as he gets steered away.

“You too, Kenma,” Oikawa says. Kenma stares just a bit longer, hoping to see a fleck of gold in the other’s eyes, and sees only darkness.

With a nod, he makes his way to the bathroom. Both Kuroo and Bokuto stare up at him from the floor, already in their animal forms. Kuroo sweeps forward and curls around Kenma’s ankle, fur slick with shadows. Kenma is quick to drop his dirty clothing to the floor and nudge it into a messy corner with theirs.

The bathroom, compared to the European-style bedroom, is very traditional. Although it is not small, it is not overly large either. There is another door at the back leading into a little restroom, leaving just the bath and shower materials in this one.

Kenma walks over to the shower area, the tiles slick under his feet, and grabs shampoo and conditioner, then a bar of soap. He sets them into a wooden barrel-bucket in the corner and hoists it over before grabbing the shower nozzle and lifting it from the wall.

It’s relieving, he thinks as he washes the shadows off of Bokuto’s smooth feathers. The owl fluffs up cutely under the spray. It’s relieving to perform such simple yet comforting acts. 

Once he’s certain all of the shadowy mess is off of Bokuto he moves the nozzle over to soak Kuroo. The cat preens a bit under the water, sitting compliantly even though Kenma knows the feeling of water makes his fur feel uncomfortable and stiff. In return Kenma makes sure to be gentle, and slowly washes the gunk out by carding his hand through it.

How he wishes he could speak, comfort them with words. But he can’t. He can only help them in these small ways.

Upon finishing with Kuroo he walks over and begins running the water for the bath. It’s large, and he finds an assortment of magic-enhanced soaking herbs in a tray to the side of it, by the towels. His fingers brush over them, but he decides clean water will do him good.

After washing himself off, he joins Kuroo and Bokuto in waiting for the bathwater to fill. 

He watches them lean into each other. Kuroo is curled around Bokuto, tail swishing in what Kenma identifies as worry, a low rumbling purr soothing Bokuto’s tenseness. 

Kenma wonders how Oikawa managed to remain clean after emerging from Akaashi’s room the first time. He deems that it must be some sort of magic, perhaps woven into his clothing, and tries to guesstimate how long Akaashi has been cursed if it has influenced Oikawa’s life enough to become routine.

The bathwater hits its mark, and Kenma turns it off. When he steps in, he feels at least some of his worries evaporate.

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

When they emerge from the bathroom, all dressed in the billowy white and grey clothing Oikawa left out for them, most of the shadows have been cleared away. The jewels are swept up into the corners of the room. Thankfully the open window relieves the worst of the stench, but it lingers slightly in the carpet.

Now that the grossness has been vanquished, the room is truly beautiful. The white curtains by the window are swept to the side by a simple green band, but they flutter in the fresh breeze. Most of the morning humidity has burned off, leaving only clean are behind. 

The only two sources of shadows in the room now are Akaashi, who remains unconscious, and Oikawa. The latter is holding up the former carefully, fingers spinning magic that keeps the shadows Akaashi exudes from getting everywhere.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Oikawa says tiredly to them, putting on his waiter’s facade. 

He slowly ambles into the bathroom himself, boss in tow, and they hear the sound of the bath being refilled. Kuroo pads back into the bathroom as well, and Kenma offers Bokuto his arm before following.

Noticing his audience, Oikawa sighs and turns.

“I’m just preparing an herbal bath. It’ll help with…everything.” He says.

Bokuto twitters, his claws sinking and unsinking into Kenma’s arm. It must be difficult to be forced to stand by when he only wants to help. That, Kenma thinks, is something very selfish of Oikawa.

“It’s not his fault,” Oikawa says as he gathers some water with his hand and bends it into the air. He sweeps it over Akaashi’s body quickly, thoroughly cleaning it. “He hasn’t been this bad in a while, it’s—sometimes it’s just too hard to control.”

Bokuto drops down from Kenma’s arm into humanity, unbothered by his own nakedness. He crouches next to Oikawa, watching the ravenette intently. 

“We know,” he says slowly, like he’s just now realizing this. “That’s just our nature. Violence, happiness, joy, anger—it’s all a part of us. That’s not bad.”

“He’s not a familiar like you,” Oikawa protests. “He’s not—he’s not an animal. It’s his curse!”

_That isn’t right._ Kenma knows. _His darkness, that is his curse. But how he handles that darkness is his own responsibility._

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

There’s quiet for a while. Bokuto frowns some more and sits down cross-legged, manhandling Kuroo into his lap (thankfully steering clear of putting Kuroo too close to his crotch; he still has some form of tact) and petting him for comfort. Kenma remains hovering in the doorway, feeling like an intruder.

Finally Oikawa finishes preparing the bath and lets Akaashi sink into it. 

Before things can truly settle, there’s a startled grunt and suddenly a very naked Kuroo is strewn over Bokuto’s lap, a truly smarmy grin on his face. He stretches in Bokuto’s lap in a way that reveals everything, ignoring the flush Bokuto sprouts, and Kenma hides a smirk.

“K—Kuro-chan!” Oikawa screeches, “Don’t do that so suddenly!”

“Like you don’t appreciate~” Kuroo croons, wiggling around in Bokuto’s lap. Kenma can’t help it; he smiles. Leave it to Kuroo to support everyone in his own, funny little way.

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

The next morning finds three people scrunched up into one bed. Strangely enough, the owner of said bed remains at an unknown location; Akaashi is nowhere to be seen. Not from the view of the bed, at least.

“Ugh, please don’t move,” Kuroo grumbles. Bokuto makes a little yip in surprise.

“I can’t help it,” he whines. “I wanna get uuuup. I don’t like laying in bed.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean you have to dislodge all the sheets.”

“…sorry.”

Kenma cracks open an eye and opens his mouth to say—

nothing. To say nothing.

He grabs a small decorative pillow from his little wedge of space and smacks Bokuto over the head with it. _Too loud._

Light streams in from the window; by the looks of it, they’ve all slept over fifteen hours. Kenma barely remembers getting into bed, only the muffled noises of Bokuto crowding the three witches under the comforter and the addition of a cat and an owl moments later.

“My mouth tastes horrible,” Kuroo mutters. He sits up and stretches his back out in true feline fashion. “Bo, can you—what the fuck?!” He slaps a hand over his eyes as Bokuto gets out of bed, and barks, “why are you naked?!”

Bokuto grins smugly over his shoulder at Kenma and waggles his eyebrows. Kenma snorts and rests his head back down on the pillows. Too early.

With a full yawn Kuroo slides out of bed too, though he is more conservative in his clothing, having retained his white boxers and tank top. He pops a shoulder. Then he reaches out and helps shuffle Kenma closer to the edge.

“C’mon,” he says. His voice is gruff from sleep. “Let’s go see how Akaashi and Oikawa are.”

Kenma wants to go back to sleep. More than that he wants his PSP, which is back at Bokuto’s apartment and just waiting for him to complete his most recent game. 

But Kuroo. Kuroo, his familiar, his entire family. Kuroo needs to see Akaashi only a hair less than he wants to stay by Kenma’s side, and Kenma loves Kuroo enough to haul himself up without a single sigh or glare. If it’s for Kuroo, he doesn’t mind. 

Kenma grabs Kuroo’s hand and gives it a squeeze, then stumbles to his feet. Time to go downstairs and—shudder—see people.

 

xxxxxxxxxx

 

It’s strangely…usual. The cafe is bustling, customers are causing various amounts of ruckus. Ushijima is unconsciously leering at an annoyed Oikawa from afar. There’s a fawn spirit in the corner that keeps sprouting flowers and grass out of the floor.

Kenma wonders how often Akaashi gets like this, how often Oikawa takes care of it by himself.

“Hey,” Kuroo mutters, drawing the witch out of his thoughts. “It’ll be fine. C’mon, lets sit down.”

Kenma smiles.

“Ah!” Oikawa catches their eyes and waves them over to table. “I’ll be over in a second!” He calls, interrupting Ushijima’s gravelly lecture.

They settle down by the window, which is quickly becoming their regular spot. Bokuto kicks back in his chair and stretches. It’s obvious, though, that he’s casually scanning for Akaashi with his heavy golden gaze.

After a couple minutes of their silence, Oikawa finally slips over to them. He wipes his forearm against his forehead and sets a new mug of tea in front of Kenma.

This one is much less appetizing than the first he’d received. It’s thick and murky, dark enough not to be see-through but thin enough to still be tea. It’s a questionable blue-green color, and from it emerges the scents of salt and algae. When Kenma wrinkles his nose Oikawa sniffs.

“Well, I’m not Aka-chan, so you’re going to have to settle,” he scowls. “It’s not on _me_ if you never get your voice back.” Kenma raises his eyebrows and takes a sip.

 

He immediately gags. The taste of the sea is strong and unpleasant. He feels like he’s swallowing a whirlpool, stomach churning as the waves rock his body back and forth. He feels Kuroo goosebump as the familiar experiences a shadow of that sensation. 

Finally, Kenma manages to swallow it. He stares uncertainly back down at the rest of the contents before looking back up at Oikawa. The ravenette sighs.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s been—I shouldn’t snap at you.” He looks down at his hands. “Thank you, for last night. For staying with him. I know it can be hard.” With a thick swallow, Oikawa wrings his apron with his hands and glances away. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll—I’ll send him your way if I see him.”

They nod their thanks.

“Wow,” Bokuto says as he stares after the ravenette. “It’s crazy that he’s been dealing with this alone, huh?”

They all blink. Kenma is reminded of one of the reasons he puts up with the other’s rather outrageous personality—inside, Bokuto is no fool. He might even be smarter than the rest of them combined.

“I didn’t even think about that,” Kuroo admits.

“I mean, I was like, here, and everything,” Bokuto continues. “But I wasn’t _here_ , you know? Akaashi’s pretty private when it comes to his curse.”

Kenma thinks about how similar Akaashi and Oikawa are, yet so different. Akaashi wallows in his pain alone; he pushes away those he cares about in order to protect them, and out of fear of hurting them. But Oikawa…Oikawa surrounds himself with people, yet shows them nothing. Kenma wonders if he himself is guilty of trying to cut off Kuroo, and instinctively grips the familiar’s hand.

“Ah, actually, Bokuto,” Kuroo glances down at the table, squeezing Kenma’s hand underneath it. There’s red creeping up the back of his neck. “Let’s maybe go out to dinner together tonight, at that restaurant you mentioned on the shore.”

“The one that fire eater works at?” Bokuto asks, grinning. “Sure! That place only serves seafood though; I thought,” he turns to Kenma, “that Kuroo said you were vegetarian?”

Kuroo turns redder and Kenma hides a smirk. Inside, though, he feels his heart beating. That’s one of the first times that someone other than Kuroo has bothered to really address _him_. The first time someone has spoken to him as a person, not just to talk at him but to him. From the side, Kuroo looks like he’s melting just a little bit.

“Er, it would, uh, be just the two of us…?”

“Sure!” It’s painful how oblivious Bokuto is sometimes. Kuroo finally musters up his courage.

“Dammit, Bokuto, I don’t—what I mean is, I’m asking you on a date!”

The pair enraptured in their awkward conversation don’t notice, but Kenma sees Oikawa drop a couple trays mid-flight. The raven-haired mage blushes furiously and tends to some tables.

“Oh! _Oh!_ Hell yes!” Bokuo grins. “Aw, does this mean you’ll sleep in my bed again?”

 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

 

It takes a while, but Akaashi finally makes his way over to their table. 

“Before any of you say anything, I just want to apologize.” He says. He sits down next to Bokuto, across from Kenma. “And I want to thank you. For staying with me when I pushed you away, and for helping take care of me, and for worrying. For caring. Kuroo, Kenma, I don’t know either of you very well. What you did for me…I owe you everything. But,” he takes a deep breath, “if I get that way again, if I end up hurting any of you, please. Leave me.”

“We can’t just—“ Bokuto tries, but Akaashi’s not having it.

“No.” He takes Bokuto’s hands in his own. They’re still red and scratched from where Akaashi’s fingernails dug into them. “No. I won’t try to carry your own pain. Please, don’t try to carry mine. I cannot handle the thought of hurting any of you like that again.”

“It’s your curse—“

“It’s not and you know it!” Akaashi snaps. He sighs and returns his hands to his lap in an effort to calm down. “What I do to you—what I did—is to no fault but my own. I hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you again, and I can’t ask you to stay. It doesn’t matter how much you want to help me, if I hurt you, or even if I just try, leave me. Promise.”

Kenma nods, feeling the way Kuroo’s hand shakes a little. Bokuto’s eyes are a dim gold as he grimaces.

“I promise,” he whispers. Then he pauses. “Wh—you know what? No! I’m sorry, but I can’t! I care about you Akaashi! I’m not going to leave you to deal with your curse alone! You’ve let Oikawa help you all this time, do you not trust us?!” By the end of his tirade, Bokuto’s in tears. Akaashi blinks away several of his own.

“It’s not a matter of trust,” Akaashi’s voice wobbles. “You know he’s different.”

“What, is it because he’s known you longer? Because you like him more? I don’t understand! Please,” Bokuto’s on the verge of begging, “explain it to me.”

Akaashi’s eyes flash over to Oikawa’s form in the corner of the cafe, throwing some bread in the oven as he whips up some steaming coffee. “Oikawa…he won’t leave. He—he can’t leave me. I don’t know why he won’t, but…he won’t. He should. I want him to more than—“ Akaashi’s voice catches in his throat. Finally he breaks down, hiding his face in his hands and bowing low, forehead to the table as he shudders. A couple of the patrons glance their direction.

“Akaashiiii!” Bokuto wails, shifting sideways so he can awkwardly hug the other.

“I d-don’t want any of you to get hurt! I—I c-can’t hurt you! Please don’t l-let yourselves get hurt, _I can’t handle that kind of pressure!_ ”

“We promise.” Kuroo’s clear voice breaks through the tension, allowing it to sizzle and fade. He looks calm, sad, with an expression of certainty. He leans forward and puts a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder. The mage looks up. “If you try to hurt us, we’ll leave. We won’t make you carry that burden.”

Akaashi’s eyes well up with tears again. “Thank you,” he whispers. Bokuto stays still a long moment before nodding. 

“You’re right,” he admits. “I’m…sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Akaashi whispers, even though Kenma knows it’s not. But it’s a step forward, and sometimes that’s all it takes.

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

Lake’s End is a little witches brewery an hour’s walk away from the cafe. Oikawa minds the shop while they’re gone, Akaashi leading them down the narrow trail in a thin line, the tip of his head almost completely hidden by the long grass surrounding the path.

“There are tea runners who use this path to get from the coast to inland,” Akaashi explains as he leads. “Two of Oikawa’s friends run it quite often, though they say the trail diverges once you hit Earth Country.”

“Hmm. That’s kind of an old fashioned way to put that, isn’t it?” Kuroo asks. Kenma’s curious as well. Since the six elemental empires divided into actual countries such a long time ago, most people don’t refer to them by their elements. It’s almost considered taboo, at least in the larger city of Tokyo that Kuroo and Kenma come from.

“Most people out here still call it that,” Bokuto chimes in. His leather bag bounces on his back, half-full. “Makes it easier for the traders.”

“Ah.” Kuroo glances over his shoulder so he can share a look with Kenma.

“Anyhow,” Akaashi continues, “the Lake’s End is along this trail to promote trading among the small businesses. Most traders and tea runners have a destination in mind, and so don’t often bring extra goods to barter in the markets. Now they bring surplus to trade with Lake’s End, which supplies it more cheaply to smaller businesses.”

“Isn’t that bad for their own profit?”

Akaashi shrugs. “In small towns like these, everyone knows each other. They get a lot of free labor from customers who just pitch in here and there. So do we. It usually balances it out in the end.”

Kenma feels amazed by how tight the community of the coastal town is, and even more so that Akaashi has hidden his curse away from them all for so long. Not to mention Oikawa. 

“Ah, here we are,” Akaashi grunts. They slow down to a stop.

Lake’s end is…not what Kenma expected. It is very quaint. The walls look like they’re made of packed mud, smoothed down and padded with some small stones around the giant door. The top of the little building isn’t so much a roof as it is a smattering of wood blocks haphazardly strewn in an array that magically seems to work.

Kuroo squeezes Kenma’s shoulder, and the mage leans into it. Wordlessly Kuroo shifts into a black cat, curling around Kenma’s feet and purring contentedly.

“Are you ready?” Akaashi asks. His hand is poised at the thick wooden doorknob.

Kenma swallows, nods tentatively. Now or never.

Akaashi opens the door.

Immediately, they are hit with the thick smell of…grease? And smoke, and something sweltering. Kenma wavers a little, thankful when Bokuto rests a hand at the small of his back before sliding it up to rest between Kenma’s shoulder blades. It’s a reassuring gesture—but one more thoughtful than Kenma knows Bokuto will ever get credit for.

Slowly, they make their way inside. There are four wooden bars that connect in a supportive square where the wall and roof meet, and a murder of crows are perched along it. They flutter and watch, unsettlingly silent. A fire pit crackles in the middle of the hut, a tea pot bigger than a dog hanging from a wooden prop. The lid is off, releasing a stifling green steam.

“Oh, it’s you,” a figure in the back grunts. Then they’re coming into the light—a lanky blonde man in a black turtleneck and pants. His sharp eyes flicker over the four newcomers. “What do you want?”

Akaashi addresses Kuroo and Kenma when he says, “this is Tsukishima. He’s the secondary witch of Lake’s End. And that,” another witch, this one sporting an extremely wide-rimmed witches’ hat, “is one of the witches that works here, Yamaguchi.” Akaashi turns to Yamaguchi. “Asahi’s not here?”

Yamaguchi smiles apologetically. “He’s…checking on Daichi.”

Akaashi’s smile wavers. “I see.” He replies quietly. “Alright then. This,” he rests his hand next to Bokuto’s on Kenma’s back, “is Kenma. We were wondering if you had any suggestions for an herbal remedy to his curse.”

“The Witch of the Lake, right?” Tsukishima asks bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tch.”

“Well, to be honest, a more invasive and aggressive method is probably necessary.” Yamaguchi inputs. “Surgery isn’t an option for you?” Kenma shivers and shakes his head. “Hmm…well, if you really can’t…”

“Here.” To their surprise, Tsukishima is already digging through the various little herbal drawers that are built in the the walls of the hut. There must be hundreds of them, but he shuffles through them like a master. At the same time he grabs some brown nuts from his pocket and throws them into the kettle above the fire pit. Finally, he turns back to them with a brown paper bag ready. He explains as he drops each herb in. “That idiot water-user knows how to use these. Here’s some sage grass, some thornbuds, minced undertoe, and white mistletoe. I’m sticking in some chamomile and dandelion so you can actually withstand it.”

He shoves the bag into Kenma’s unsuspecting hands and turns away. “Now get out!” He barks, and the crows begin to chirp and squabble. 

“It’s time to go,” Akaashi agrees, but as they exit he lingers. Kuroo and Bokuto keep walking, but Kenma hovers just enough to see Tsukishima toss Akaashi a little black vial.

 

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

There is a Waiting Man. He stands in front of the lake; he’s made of stone, but oddly realistic. His eyes remain on the middle of the lake, calm and certain, and his lips are curved in what is not quite a smile. He stands with his shoulders strong, back straight, feet pointed ahead. Sure of himself. Waiting.

The Waiting Man does not move. He does not change, or breathe, or feel. He does not express. The Waiting Man stands at the edge of the lake, feet just brushing the beginning. He does not step forward. He does not avoid the gentle caress of the water. The Waiting Man is motionless.

The Waiting Man feels no pain, no heartbreak or misery. He experiences no exhilaration, no happiness, no joy or pride. He is not broken by the whips of time or the sorrows of men. Men who love, men who fight, men who make mistakes and take things back and wish that, in some life, they could have been better. That they will wake up the morning after their mistakes, better than the day before.

The Waiting Man does none of these things. The Waiting Man does not move. He does not change, or breathe, or feel. He stands in front of the lake, made of stone and oddly realistic. And he waits.

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

“Ah, just a moment.” Akaashi hesitates on the edge of the trail back, pulling out a little mirror. He breathes on it, fogging it up, and when the fog fades away there’s a view of the cafe. “Oikawa? You called?”

The other three peek over Akaashi’s shoulder and manage to see Oikawa flouncing around the cafe, tea staining his shirt and eyes wild coals. He glances over at them—they must be looking through one of the windows of the cafe—and groans, “Sorry, Aka-chan! Lev-chan let in another Yokai by accident and it’s—HEY!” Oikawa drops to the ground just in time to miss a mug to the head. There’s a quick flash of a black tentacle and Oikawa’s back on his feet screeching, “YOU DIRTY LITTLE RUNT! GET OVER HERE SO I CAN—“ 

Akaashi shuts the looking glass. “We should hurry back,” he says. They nod. Kenma’s never seen Oikawa lose his manners in such a way.

They manage to cut their time by over half, and it still is barely enough. By the time they reach the cafe, watery reddish brown ink is coating half the cafe. There’s a tentacle broken through the front window, twitching and curling around the roof. It looks like the kraken taking over a ship.

“That’s a Yokai?” Kuroo mutters. “Gross.” Kenma has to agree.

Bokuto glances at them in surprise. “You don’t get them in the city?”

“Nah, not out-of-control ones at least. That’s one of the appeals for blanks, since they’re way safer there then out here.”

Blanks? Kenma wonders where Kuroo first heard that word, and decides it must be country slang for non-witches.

A tentacle slaps down to the ground, and they all flinch as dirt sprays everywhere.

“I suppose we should get inside,” Akaashi says, looking disdainfully at the front door. There’s just enough room to squeeze through. There’s a pause.

“Uh, fine,” Kuroo grumbles. “I’ll go first, since none of your dumb asses want to.” 

It takes some maneuvering, but with the cat in front they manage to push past the slimy tentacle with little clothing stains. Oikawa and a couple of the patrons are nearby, working on getting the mass of tentacles under control.

“Hey!” One of the patrons, a brunette shadowed by a muscle-y white haired man, waves them over. “This is your cafe, Akaashi, so I figure we better ask before we pretty much blow it up.”

“Can’t you restrain it, Futakuchi-san?” Akaashi scowls just a little. 

Futakuchi snorts. “I’ve been on the job since a week ago; some idiot’s been running around making a bunch of government-issued curses. I’m so wiped Aone’s just here to make sure I don’t pass out while I’m pushing it away from all of us.”

Now that they take a closer look, it appears that way. Futakuchi’s leaning slightly into Aone’s chest, hands out and clammy as invisible magic keeps the tentacles from lashing out at their little collection of witches. 

“Alright, alright,” Bokuto huffs. He scans the rest of the group until his eyes land on Oikawa, and he perks up.

Gold sweat beads Oikawa’s forearms, his pale blue button-down rolled up to his elbows. Expression pinched and stance firm, his arms are thrust out in front of his chest as if he were physically pushing the yokai away.

“Iwaizumi!” Oikawa yells, and suddenly the man to his immediate right is a falcon swooping down, beating his wings before sinking his claws into Oikawa’s shoulder and letting out a feral cry. Oikawa grimaces and shakes a little, and Kenma watches Akaashi’s breath catch in concern, but soon the yokai lets out a wail: whatever magic Oikawa is working, it’s doing its job right. 

“Just—one more—“ Oikawa grits his teeth. Iwaizumi’s wings beat at the air like drums, and there’s just a brief moment where—

Kenma cannot describe it any other way. There is a moment, when Oikawa is no longer Oikawa. He’s… _alive_. His hair fades from black to a nice chestnut brown, eyes a sparkling honey, skin falling from sickly white to a healthy beige. There’s a twist of a grin on his lips, and the light fades as the Yokai shrieks one last time, tentacles shriveling up before collapsing in on themselves. The moment is gone. Oikawa is himself once more.

Kenma observes the others, but he’s almost certain they missed it. The Yokai was probably very distracting.

“Where did you send it?” Bokuto asks curiously. Oikawa shrugs.

“The Suicide Forest,” he answers, stroking Iwaizumi gently with two of his fingers. “Now, _I_ think that we should close the cafe for the rest of the day and relax, but _I’m_ not the owner.”

They all glance over at Akaashi with bated breath, but before the ravenette can say anything Futakuchi interrupts with a small, “actually, as someone who makes a living on this shit, I’m obligated to mention that you have to close for at least eighteen hours.”

They breathe a sigh of relief.

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

“You’re hot,” Oikawa mumbles into Kuroo’s hair.

Kuroo grins. “Why, thank you.”

He currently has Oikawa in some sort of death grip; as Oikawa struggles, his ‘probe me, daddy!’ shirt rides up, revealing surprisingly defined abs. Kenma hides a smirk when he notices Akaashi and Bokuto glue their eyes to that sliver of skin, before trailing down those pale legs.

Akaashi’s eyes meet Kenma’s knowing ones, and the cafe owner blushes and looks away. 

“Now then,” he says, still shifting uncomfortably, “your curse.”

“Oh, right!” Oikawa blinks. “Aka-chan’s good at Palm Transference! He’ll hold your palm, Ken-chan, and it’ll help him understand the curse! Then he can transfer that to me and we can brainstorm how to help!”

Kuroo squeezes Oikawa a little tighter, nestling them both back into Bokuto’s chest. He shares a look with Kenma before going, “hey, guys…uh…could we maybe find something else?”

“Huh?” Oikawa tries to turn around, but just ends up shoving his fluffy black hair in Kuroo’s face. “Why?”

“Kenma doesn’t like people touching his hands.”

“But you guys hold hands all the time?” Bokuto asks, sounding a little hurt, and Kenma stiffens up. Immediately Oikawa wiggles his toes against Akaashi’s belly and chirps, 

“Well that’s different, silly! Kuroo’s his familiar.” 

The tension remains in Kenma’s stomach, taut like a string, but his heart stops beating like a drum. Akaashi shoots him a reassuring smile, but Kenma can’t help but feel alienated over on his chair to the side.

“Anyway,” Kuroo cuts in nervously, “is there another way we can figure it out?”

“I’ll keep trying new recipes,” Oikawa promises lightly. “With what you guys got today, it should be easier! So we’ll just continue on that track, then.” He sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back into Kuroo’s chest. “This is nice.”

“It is,” Kuroo rumbles. His eyes are at half-mast, and Kenma really hopes that he’s tired enough to accidentally let his cat ears appear. He thinks the others would like that. Also, it would change the subject.

“Hey, Tooru,” Bokuto says, nudging the witch’s thigh with his toes. “Are you cursed?”

Well, there goes the calmer atmosphere that Kenma was hoping for. He does think this is a conversation that needs to happen though. Even if its a little early, he prays that it helps them work through one of the complications that being in a relationship with Oikawa will bring.

“Um,” Oikawa looks blindsided, quickly turning his head so Kuroo and Bokuto can’t see his face. Akaashi leans forward and rubs his thumb over the other witch’s hand. “I—it’s complicated.”

Bokuto is persistent. “You can tell us anything, you know?”

“It’s just…okay. So, I can only fall in love with people who aren’t in love with me.”

“Did the witch of the lake curse you?”

Oikawa huffs a little. “Y—yeah, sort of.”

“You’re trying to break it though, aren’t you?” Kuroo asks, an edge to his voice. Oikawa sags into his chest.

“It’s…it’s complicated.” He sighs. “I know _how_ to break it, but…I can’t. I just—I can’t.”

“How do you break it?” Bokuto asks. “Is it like a time-sensitive kinda thing, or…?”

“It’s—er, sort of, yeah. I guess you could say that. But it’s out of my control, so. Even if I wanted to break my curse, I couldn’t. Trying wouldn’t change that.”

A melancholy mood washes over them, and they sit quietly for a minute. After a while, Oikawa continues. “I mean, it’s fine though. It’s not like I’m alone! I have Iwaizumi, and the HanaMatsu duo, and Kunimi-chan, and you guys. So…it’s not so bad.” It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than them, and Kenma is struck with a chord of pain.

“Okay, well, I’m done for the night.” Kuroo yawns. “So I’m just gonna zonk out right here.” He settles into Bokuto’s chest and shifts Oikawa closer into his arms. “Night.”

“Night,” the other three chime. Kenma watches them before slipping silently away to grab a blanket. It’s not too difficult to navigate Bokuto’s apartment now that he’s slept there for two weeks, and it’s nice to be in familiar surroundings. 

He can’t help but wonder what will happen once his curse is broken. This place, out in the country, isn’t their home. Kenma yearns to hear the comforting hum of foot traffic outside his window, to see Yaku, to visit that cafe down the street from his apartment where all of the stray cats go to lounge. He’s glad that Kuroo’s finding people who he actually wants to be with, but there’s a small part of Kenma that twists with anxiety about the possibility of Kuroo not wanting to go back home. He knows that, were that to happen, Kuroo would go wherever Kenma went. And that breaks him a little bit inside.

More than anything, Kenma misses talking to Kuroo. Because even though he feels anxious, the familiar is exceedingly good at taming those anxieties.

Kenma shuffles down the hallway and steals a blanket from the storage closet before slowly making his way back to the living room. However, the unsteady silence makes him hover in the doorway uncertainly. He peers into the room.

Akaashi, legs tangled with Oikawa’s, is slumped against one arm rest of the couch, completely out. Kuroo’s ears have made an appearance in his unconscious state, and a slumbering Bokuto rubs them absentmindedly. Oikawa stares up at the ceiling, eyes wide and so painfully young, tears leaking out against his will. He notices Kenma in the doorway and turns his head ever so slightly, whispering, “Kenma, I think I’m in love with them.” More tears escape down those sickly pale cheeks. “W-what am I gonna do?”

And Kenma can’t say a word.

 

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

By the time Kenma and Kuroo are ready to go, both Akaashi and Oikawa have left to attend to the cafe. Bokuto waits patiently for them on the back of the couch, feet planted on the ground, eyes bright.

“Hey! Good morning! I think I have a way we can help with the curse!”

“Ugh,” Kuroo grumbles, “why are you so awake? Go away.”

“We can ask Ushiwaka!” 

They stare at him. Kenma nudges Kuroo into speaking.

“Uh. That guy who’s obsessed with Oikawa? Why?”

“Because! He’s been around forever. And also everyone knows that people who read are smart. He owns a bookstore, so I bet he knows a lot!”

Kuroo groans. “Fine. Just—coffee first.” Bokuto grins at him.

“That’s fair,” he agrees.

 

 

xxxxxxxxxxxx

 

They approach Ushijima’s bookstore with travel mugs in tow, steam rising from the drinks and sweet aromas filling the air. Apparently Oikawa included some of the herbs from the Lake’s End, in hopes that they’ll get somewhere with Kenma’s curse.

The bookstore is small and quaint, sitting about a thirty minute walk from the cafe, in what might be called a miniature strip mall. It’s stuck between “The Sephardic Fortune Teller” and some sort of fire-based restaurant. The roof is made of mossy wood shakes, and the windows are crusted with sea salt. Bokuto holds the door open for them as they step inside.

Instead of a traditional register area, Ushijima appears to be using magic to run his business. A quill is perched, ready to write, on an enormous piece of parchment at a wooden desk by the entryway, along with a little bottle of ink that has eight little feet. Kenma watches it putter about in curiosity. It kind of reminds him of a crab.

“Huh, I haven’t seen mod magic like this in the city,” Kuroo says. He pushes at the ink with his finger, watching it stumble across the desk.

Ushijima appears from behind a bookshelf, glasses perched over his nose, looking surprisingly…quaint. Despite his hulking figure and broad features, he dresses cleanly and manages to come off as more awkward than rude. He nods to them. “It is the focus I studied in university,” he answers. “I’m unable to perform body modification, though.” He pauses before approaching. “…Is there something I can help you with?”

“Uh…” Kuroo’s eyes dart around. “Yeah. But first, lemme buy this.” He grabs a little pop-up book from the nearest shelf and as soon as he does, the quill straightens up. Ushijima nods at him to approach it, and there’s a couple seconds of awkward silence before Kuroo gives up and asks, “how the heck do I do this? We use our looking glasses in the city.”

Ushijima quirks a gentle smile. “Just set the payment down on the parchment.”

Kuroo nods and, as he struggles with making sure the ink doesn’t topple off the desk, Bokuto and Kenma turn their attention to Ushijima.

“We were wondering if you would tell us about the witch of the lake,” Bokuto begins. “She cursed Kenma and we’re trying to break it!”

Ushijima looks down uncomfortably. “I don’t speak of it to most people,” he admits. “It’s…taboo.”

“Please? It might help us with Oikawa, too.”

Well, well. Looks like Bokuto can be manipulative, too, when he wants to be. Kenma hides a smirk.

“Well…” Ushijima frowns. Then he turns, nodding to a circle of reading chairs towards the back. “Let’s sit down.”

Kuroo leaves the ink in a state of disarray, padding after Kenma like a—well, like a cat. He slings an arm around Kenma’s shoulder and squeezes once, before settling down a couch with him. “This should be interesting,” he mutters. He pockets the popup book and takes a sip of his matcha latte.

Ushijima leans forward as he sits, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees. His fingers weave together as he holds his hands tightly. The chair creaks under his weight. “This happened several years ago—around seven, I remember. As a half-giant, I can easily sense the magic inside people. This was before the city laws became common in our area, so it we still had a singular, small coven looking after our town. It was comprised of Oikawa, Daichi, Kiyoko, and Akaashi. They were very powerful—all descended straight from the four pure elements. Their coven was hailed with divine balance, and they became an integral part of how the town was run.

“One day, a wood whisperer took refuge from the Shadows in this town, and the Shadows fought to get them. In the process, one of the coven was stabbed with their Darkness, and it consumed them.”

“Kiyoko,” Kuroo whispers. “The witch of the lake.”

“The three met to cure the darkness, to ail their fallen comrade. Spells were cast. Oikawa was caught in the crossfire, and as soon as he fell she overtook Akaashi. As the sole covenmate left, Daichi cursed her into the lake in hopes that the water would purify her. Instead, her Darkness made the lake sick, and they continue to worsen in state as the time passes.”

Kenma takes a long sip of his tea, relishing in the soothing feeling that rushes down his throat. He feels lighter, even if his heart feels heavy.

“That is all I can share,” Ushijima says. “The rest…tell Oikawa I helped you, please. He’s a powerful witch. Ask him to stop by whenever he is not working.” He gets up, walking away and back turned, and they know he feels guilty for speaking.

 

xxxxxxxxx

 

Bokuto’s claws press firmly into Kenma’s shoulder, Kuroo weaving himself around Kenma’s skinny ankles. The wind has a bite to it now, howling through the coves in the distance, and the lake has soaked up the recent rainfall to leave spongey ground in its wake. The dirt sinks under Kenma’s weight, and he gently picks Kuroo up so they won’t have to deal with him getting muddy. Besides, the heat of the familiar feels nice. Kenma is only wearing a thin cotton sweatshirt to block the wind.

It’s odd, being blanketed in silence. Kenma hasn’t had much of it since his curse. He knows it has something to do with Kuroo worrying over him, but as much as it is forced Kenma can’t bring himself to mind it. He’s just the sort of person who needs that peace and quiet more than others do. It doesn’t bother him much, and hasn’t for a long time.

Still, he wishes he could voice his opinion to Kuroo. The things he’s figured out about Oikawa and his curse, about Akaashi’s magic and the way he looks at them all with such tenderness. He wishes he could tell Kuroo how amazing he is, how patient and kind. Kenma knows Kuroo thrives on praise and must miss it a lot. 

But he can’t. Lake’s End may have given Oikawa the means to retrieve a few words from Kenma’s vocabulary, but the curse is far from gone. And there is no use being sad about it now.

They reach the edge of the lake and Kenma peers down at the surface; it’s dark and slimy. The rocks near it are covered in a black sludge, and the grass behind him is grossly mushy. There’s a rainbow sheen left on the water from some sort of…oil?

He squats down and reaches out, Kuroo meowing softly as he gets pressed uncomfortably between Kenma’s thighs and chest. Kenma ignores it and lets his fingers brush the disgustingly thick surface.

“Purify,” he whispers. It comes out as a hiss, and it sounds nothing like his old voice. It almost startles him into retreating just by it’s unruly, unpleasant sound. Like fingernails against a chalkboard. He shivers.

The area close to his hand begins to clear up just a hint, and then it’s gone. The darkness overcomes it once more.

Kenma watches the surface of the lake, and he thinks. He almost feels a flake of ice against the back of his hand, but shakes his head. It must be his imagination.

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

When Kenma opens his eyes next, the world is dark. The cabin is cold enough that Kenma’s chilled to the bone. He brushes his fingertips against the dry wood of the side table, groping around for some sort of light. With a deep breath, he pinches the top of a candle and murmurs, 

“Flanora.”

It’s a rasp, but the heat sparks under his fingers enough to light it. Kenma grips the base of the candle and sits up.

The world outside the window is white. Snow blankets the ground and swirls daintily in the air, brushing the window before flickering away. The sky is smothered in a very smooth layer of clouds, grey and almost mist-like. The moon is just barely visible from beyond them. Careful not to wake Kuroo, whose small form is curled up on the pillow, Kenma shifts out of the blankets and rests his feet on the frosty wood floor. Between the dryness of his feet and the crunchy layer of frozen moisture, his toes threaten to stick to the ground.

There is a woman in the corner of the room.

She is remarkably beautiful, not the pale wraith Kenma feels he must have known her as. She looks familiar, but he cannot recall from where. 

Silently she makes her way forward, gliding like an illusion, her skin as white and glittering as the snow, and she rests her cold hand against his cheek. He leans into it and closes his eyes. Those delicate fingertips drift down his cheek, petting, until they trace the contours of his throat.

She leads him out of the small cabin, out the door and into the snow. It is only several inches thick, and the woods around them are a calming dark green against their sparkling white. He follows her far into the woods, until the trees begin to grow sparse and he feels his legs begin to prickle. They reach the edge of a little lake, smaller than most of the lakes Kenma visited near the old city. 

The lake is black, but the water is pure. When he cards his hands through it he can feel how clean it is. He continues to let his fingers skirt the surface when—

a gross, oil-slick hand shoots out of the water like an eel. It wraps around Kenma’s wrist, and suddenly there are clawed hands at his back and his world tilts as the air around him is replaced with ice water and—

_“KENMA!”_

Kenma gasps as he sits up in bed, and then his feet pound against the floor as he bolts for the bathroom. The porcelain toilet seat cracks as he throws it up and gags into the bowl.

“Kenma?!” Kuroo’s worried voice trails out from the hallway. He sounds shaken, and the door creaks open as the familiar joins him in the bathroom. “I…” He sucks in a shaky breath. “I had no idea it was this bad.” He sounds choked. “I…Kenma…”

Silence reigns for a moment. After it, Kuroo slumps down so that Kenma’s back is resting against his chest. He gently pulls Kenma’s hair out of his face and hums low, hums the old spellsong their teacher used to sing. It’s calming, an ancient chant passed down between generations of various branch families far into the imperial age.

When Kenma is finally done heaving, they both wallow in the lingering pain. And then they both freeze, because it is not the previous contents of Kenma’s stomach splattered in the porcelain bowl. It is oil.

 

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

They don’t sleep for the rest of the night. Kuroo draws him into the living room, grabs a couple of quilts from the closet for warmth, and puts on a pot for tea. Once they’re bundled up together on the couch, legs tangled, he begins to talk.

“They need to know why we’re here,” he says. “Your curse is getting worse.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything.

“They can’t help us if they don’t know the full story. Oikawa and Akaashi already know something’s up.”

Silence still.

“…it’s snowing outside, again.”

Kenma looks up, eyes wide. He remembers his dream, the cabin. The Cabin. His fingers reach out until his shaking hands are wrapped up tight in Kuroo’s, and shudders a breath. 

 

xxxxxxxxxx

 

They walk to the cafe without Bokuto this morning. The sun hasn’t risen yet; the sky is grey as snowflakes drift down to the ground. Kenma has a Disappearing Bag clutched tightly in one hand; every couple minutes, he has to pause to cough up more oil. By the time they get to the cafe, he feels drained of all of his energy.

Somehow, the door opens for them. Akaashi is waiting inside, expression calm and somewhat knowing. He nods to them, and they sit down near the window as usual.

“The power isn’t quite working, so I lit some candles,” Akaashi tells them as he approaches with a few. He sets them on the table, white wax rolling down the sides of them. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Kuroo mutters. Akaashi shakes his head.

“I understand…I hope.” He joins them, for the first time, at the table. “Unfortunately, Oikawa-san won’t be here today. He is making a last-moment trip to the local shrine today. I might have to close the shop early, that will give us more time to talk once Bokuto-san arrives.”

“If—if it’s okay, can it just be us for now?” Kuroo asks. Akaashi nods.

“I assume this is about the curse.”

“It’s…” Kuroo glances over at Kenma, and Kenma really wishes he wouldn’t. He doesn’t feel strong enough to be reassuring right now. “Neither of us actually grew up in the city. I grew up in a fishing village where the waterbenders lived, and Kenma got raised in a more suburban-like town that focused on making mages, not witches. But Kenma’s not really suited to all the traditional and old magic that mages use; he’s better with the flexible stuff. Besides, he’s, like, really powerful. But his parents—his town—they’re just, they’re really strict. So they got the town elders to put a dampening curse on him. ‘Course, that went pretty sour and Kenma ditched town and ended up meeting me. 

“We went to the city together, and we found this one alchemist. She was really smart, y’know? She could tell something was off with us—with our bond, with the magic. She told us to go out to this cabin in the mountains for a week or so, let the shit make its way through him. But it just…He couldn’t figure out an outlet for all the magic that started getting released, and it started getting bad. He kept waking up outside in the snow, sleep walking, no appetite, you know the drill. He—he got pretty bad hallucinations. And so instead of—“

“You both decided to renew the curse,” Akaashi interrupts. His gaze is even as he glances between them. “That is…quite the story you’ve both kept to yourselves.” He reaches out and rests his hand on the table, right in front of Kenma. “This curse is taking over the old and your magic is beginning to leak. It is drawing the witch of the lake out of her domain. I am sure she sensed your previous curse, and that is what caused her to attack you.”

Kuroo pushes back his chair with a screech as he stands, completely defensive. “It’s not our fault she’s been cursing people, okay?! It’s—it can’t be…”

“Be quiet.” Akaashi’s voice is sharp, but not cruel. “Aside from Oikawa-san and I, there is only one other cursed person in this place. Although we were all cursed by her, she did so quite some time ago. She did not begin actively cursing passerby until your arrival.” He takes on a gentler tone and grabs Kuroo’s hand. “You did what you did to protect your witch. Trust me, I understand. You know I’m in no position to judge. But accept that there were consequences to your actions.”

Slowly, Kuroo sits back down. Kenma trembles as stiffness fills chest, and Akaashi turns those eyes to him.

“It is common knowledge that I am cursed. You came here not only to lift this curse, but to permanently stifle your abilities.” He frowns. “I…am not the best at this sort of thing. One of my old coven was always suited to this.” He gazes out the window. “It is your decision. But I would like you to think it over much longer than this. Oikawa-san should also understand what he is truly working with.”

Kenma and Kuroo both nod stiffly.

“I…I’m sorry,” Kuroo whispers. The snow blankets the world outside and smothers all noise. The cafe is, for once, eerily silent. “I’m sorry.”

“Kuroo, there are some bonds so important we would sacrifice anything, do anything, stop anything. Don’t apologize for them. You are very lucky to have someone like that.”

“Oikawa’s still here,” Kuroo says. “You still have a covenmate.” Kenma’s glad Kuroo picked up on the sad tinge to Akaashi’s words, and he rests a light hand on Kuroo’s thigh.

Akaashi’s face pinches slightly. “Oikawa-san…I’m afraid it’s compli—“

“Oh my god,” Kuroo’s eyes widen. Kenma’s heart twinges—the familiar finally realized. “How long have you loved him?”

“…three years,” he whispers. Kenma feels horrified. To love someone so deeply for so long, only to know that they can never return those feelings even if they wanted to…alongside the pain of Akaashi’s own curse, it seems almost impossible. Kenma can’t imagine he’d survive something like that himself. The very idea makes him sick to his stomach, and he changes his thoughts if only to avoid throwing up more oil.

“Akaashi, that’s…” Kuroo shudders out a breath. “No matter what, we’re here for you. I’m here for you. Okay?” He reaches out and squeezes Akaashi’s hand. “You know how Bokuto and I feel.”

Akaashi squeezes back. “I know. That’s what makes me most sad.”

Kuroo opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, too shocked, and before he can pull himself back together and speak the door to the cafe rattles and suddenly Bokuto’s shuffling inside, snowflakes fluttering down at his feet.

“Hey! It’s snowing, do you think one of those backpackers came back and got sick or something?” He asks. Kenma picks up the nervous twitch of Bokuto’s lips—the other familiar is completely aware of the feel of the room. The other two don’t appear to notice, too caught up in their own chaotic emotions. “Ah, Kenma! Oikawa messaged me through my neighbor’s looking glass and told me to make sure you drink your tea this morning! If you skip one, it’ll set you back apparently. Also, he’s on his way over.”

Kenma nods in thanks. Without further prompting, Bokuto hauls his heavy coat onto the coat rack by the door and heads deeper inside. He plops down next to Akaashi and drips wet snow onto the table. 

“So, what’re you guys talking about?” He asks gently.

Kenma watches the silent conversation between Kuroo and Akaashi, before turning to observe Bokuto. The owl has a very…mixed expression on his face. Hurt. Left out. Kenma presses his fingernails lightly into Kuroo’s wrist to get the cat’s attention, frown edging over his lips.

“We were talking about the cu—“ Kuroo begins, when Kenma’s hit with a roll of nausea. He slides out of his chair and turns away from the table as black oil spills from his mouth, back shaking violently. He scrambles for something to hold onto. Kuroo gasps. 

Warm hands land on his back before slowly tracing up his spine, and Kenma shivers. He’s never liked people touching his neck. Kuroo’s hand carefully brushes the hair out of Kenma’s face; oil splatters against the floor.

“I’ll grab a bowl,” Akaashi says, words stilted, and hurries off. Fire claws at Kenma’s throat, and his nails find and dig into the fabric around Kuroo’s knee. 

With a strangled noise, Bokuto pushes away from the table. “W-what the hell?” He chokes.

Kenma feels tears sting at the corner of his eyes as he begins to dry heave; his shoes are cold and wet with black oil. His free hand grapples at something—anything—to root him, and he feels a wave of surprise when Bokuto’s calloused hand firmly grips his. Akaashi’s footsteps draw near before faltering upon realizing that the worst of it is over.

“…I’ll grab the mop,” he says quietly, when—

“I’m baaack~” Oikawa announces, slamming the door open. His inky black eyes find their way to where Kenma is hunched over and he stumbles back as if punched, pupils dilating, breath stuttering, face pale. He shakes his head minutely, taking in the oil with a gasp before he stumbles back onto the porch.

“K-Kenma?” He whispers. Kenma barely has time to look up, to see the absolute _fury_ marring Oikawa’s pretty face, before the raven-haired witch is gone. He’s bolting through the snow, through the thick grass that now reaches his waist. Away from them—away from Kenma.

_He feels responsible._ Kenma realizes. But why? What could Oikawa have possibly done to cause all of this?

With determination, he rises to his feet.

 

xxxxxxxxx

 

They catch up with him by the time he reaches the forest. He’s curled up against the base of a giant fir tree, tears streaking his rosy cheeks. His hands cradle his face; his traditional brown fur cloak is the only thing to keep him from freezing. He looks completely and utterly frustrated.

Kenma feels a pang of pity, and also one of irritation. When has running away ever solved the problem? He’s pissed that Oikawa has forced them all the way out here to take care of him, make sure he understands why he isn’t at fault. He’s pissed that Oikawa thinks he’s at fault to begin with, and that none of them communicated anything to each other properly. He’s pissed that Oikawa never tried to break his curse, that he gave up. He’s pissed at himself for pushing Kuroo to fall for someone so unstable.

He’s pissed at himself for being so helpless.

“Put me down,” he rasps, sliding off Kuroo’s back, and when his feet touch the snow he pushes Kuroo towards Oikawa. The familiar hesitates, meeting his eyes with a glance over the shoulder, and Kenma glares at him. Slowly, Kuroo approaches Oikawa.

“Hey,” he says softly, wincing as Oikawa turns away from him. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Ok?” He reaches around the pale figure and wraps him up tight in an embrace; Oikawa struggles, hands pinned between their chests, but is too weak from his outburst to break free. Instead he sags into Kuroo’s shoulder, looking utterly exhausted.

“It’s all my f—“ He breaks into stuttered sobs.

“Hey, now,” Bokuto says. He crouches down by the two of them and hugs them warmly. “We love you, okay? So it’s like Kuroo says. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

With heartbreaking shock, Oikawa freezes. “You love me?” He whispers. He sounds…hopeful?

“Oikawa-san,” Akaashi says, walking forward, “I can’t speak for the other two. But, I love you. I’m _in love_ with you. I always will be.”

“You’re in love with me,” Oikawa whispers, dipping his head so his scalp is pressed to Kuroo’s shoulder. “You’re all in love with me.” He sounds so heartbroken. “Say it. Say it again.”

“Oikawa, we’re in love with you.” Akaashi says uncertainly. “We love you.”

The trio grip him fiercely, but slacken when he lets out a slightly hysterical laugh.

“Oikawa?” Bokuto asks worriedly, and Kuroo gently separates himself a bit so they can see Oikawa’s face, and— _wow_. It’s all Kenma can think.

It’s like looking at a completely different person. Oikawa’s skin now has a healthy flush to it, resting at a light beige instead of the paper white it used to be. His hair is no longer a dull black, instead a warm chestnut brown. His lips have more color to them, his smile is brighter. His eyes…they’re alive. Golden and beautiful. Oikawa…is stunning. He’s also crying.

“You broke the curse,” he sobs, chest heaving. “You guys…you loved someone who could never love you back. You—you broke my curse. You saved me.” And then he reaches out and pulls them all close again, and continues to cry. “I thought you wouldn’t—I thought it was just me—“ It’s wholehearted crying, as though he is so tired he doesn’t have the energy to do anything else. The rest of them are crying, too; misty-eyed and wobbly-smiled. Kenma himself has to look away not to give them privacy, but simply because he doesn’t want to start.

And then, he realizes.

Oikawa had never been just cursed. He’d suffered from a dark heart.

 

xxxxxxxx

 

The cafe is still when they enter it; everything remains untouched. With an elegant hand motion Oikawa cleans up the mess of oil, and they all settle down at the table as Oikawa makes Kenma some tea. No longer inhibited by his own magic, Kenma notices, everything tastes much more…potent. Oikawa’s still crying, his breath coming in short and quiet heaves.

When they’re all sitting at the table, candles re-lit and blankets passed around, Akaashi explains.

After four days of harboring the illegal refugee, Oikawa was stabbed by one of the Shadows. After training in Enabling magic for so long Oikawa was able to prolong the process, but not even he could escape the inevitable fate of a dark heart. After only a month, he found himself living with almost no emotion. 

It was only natural for him to argue. Oikawa explains with a stiff lip that the only time he truly felt anything was when he argued with his covenmates. So he would do small things to annoy them, or larger ones if they needed more provocation. Anything, just to feel something. One day when he got into a bad argument with their Earth-traditional witch, Kiyoko. She cursed him to live a life without love, and he in turn spread the darkness of his heart so far it tainted her own. He gave her a dark heart. He created the witch of the lake.

Lacking the control of her powers Oikawa possessed, Kiyoko quickly lost all semblance of being. She attacked almost anything that had more that a hint of magic, attracted to the power struggle that ensued. Their last covenmate, Daichi, managed to seal her in the lake, but it did little good.

“I’ve heard about Daichi, but I’ve never actually seen him,” Kuroo cuts in. His eyes are tired. “Where is he?”

“He—“ Oikawa cuts off, turning his head to the side and staring out the window. His hands fist in his lap, trembling. His eyes are shiny from tears. Akaashi steps in.

“He watches over her. When the lake turned dark we needed a water mage to heal it, but with Oikawa-san’s state…we have searched, but no mage has ever been strong enough.” He shares a look with Oikawa, and Kenma feels stark realization.

He never found them by accident.

Kuroo picks up on it, too. “Wait, that’s why you agreed to help us for free?” He demands. They look down guiltily. “You thought—you thought if you helped us, we would help you?”

Kenma lets his hand rest lightly over the front of his neck, just under his chin, eyes wide. _Wait…_ He glances around the table, but all of their focus is on Kuroo. He looks back down at the tea; the mug has black smudges on it from the oil on his lips. His throat no longer hurts—in fact, it doesn’t feel clamped at all. _It’s not possible…_ He meets eyes with Oikawa over the table. The brunette is watching him carefully, and lets out a tired smile. It reads, _it was about time_. Kenma breaks eye contact to watch the others.

“I would do anything for my coven,” Akaashi says fiercely, but there’s a heartfelt edge to his words. “Anything. Helping someone in the process seemed the best route. You know what it’s like to put someone you are about before others.”

“But you made it seem like—“ Kuroo cuts himself off, but Akaashi’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. Kenma glances back over at Oikawa; the brunette looks incredibly overwhelmed. Then again, it sounds like he’s barely been able to feel anything for a long time. It’s…must almost like how Kenma feels in a crowded room. 

“Say it.” Akaashi growls. Kuroo swallows.

“You could never help us. You dragged us here hoping the curse would wear off over time or some shit like that, didn’t you? You can’t even use magic! And Oikawa, god, like he would’ve been able to help properly with what was going on. Do you understand how stressful it’s been trying to figure this out, or did you just not th—“

“Kuroo, _shut up_.” 

Everyone stops.

Kenma’s voice is throaty and raw from how long it’s been, but it feels so good to speak. His eyes water a little bit; he reaches out and yanks on the back of Kuroo’s hair, right at the back of his neck. Then, he bows so low his nose brushes the table. He guides Kuroo to do the same.

“Thank you for lifting my curse.”

Akaashi and Bokuto stare, nonplussed, but Oikawa bows lightly in response. “My pleasure,” he says, voice still wobbly. Kenma stands and the snow outside whips into the windows, mixing into hail. Looks like the tea did more than lift the witch’s curse.

Kenma turns and meets Kuroo’s eyes, and the familiar smiles before turning to the others.

“Why we’re here now doesn’t matter,” Kenma says. “We’re here. We would be honored to help you and your coven.” 

 

xxxxxxxx

 

It takes time. They have to wait for Oikawa to recover, first and foremost. Although apparently healing the witch of the lake will take very little magical ability after all the time that’s passed, he still needs to rest. The poor witch slept over ten hours in the little bedroom above the cafe, exhausted from everything that happened, burrowed into a layer of quilts. Kenma drinks more tea. He and Kuroo bundle up in their own world, eyes closed and knees touching as they soak in their newfound freedom. Bokuto drifts around the cafe, exploring.

Akaashi stays by the window, watching the snow swirl around. 

He wonders how fortunate he is.

By the time they all feel ready, the sun is well on its way to setting. They bundle up and depart in silence.

As they walk, the snow begins to drift more lazily; the wind dies down. Oikawa is waving his hands around gracefully in the air like a conductor, sweeping snow out of their path and keeping the bitter temperatures at bay. For the first time, he looks alive.

“Are you ready?” Oikawa asks softly as they get closer to the lake. 

Akaashi nods and swallows. “Let’s go.” He says.

They do.

Kenma watches it all in fascination. He can physically see how Akaashi begins to tremble, how he cracks and takes a breath and holds it in. Kenma notices the way Oikawa’s heart flutters, his shoulders ever back, confident in gait, eyes wary. Most of all, he notices how badly Boktuo and Kuroo want to help them somehow.

Finally, they stand at the lake. 

“Stand back,” Oikawa says. They do such, backing up until they’re a good twenty feet away. And they watch with bated breath as Oikawa slowly wades into the lake. The black, gooey surface clings to his pants, and the area where he’s wading to begins to stir.

Kenma notices Bokuto grip Kuroo’s hand tight as they watch, eyes wide and worried.

A grotesque figure begins to emerge in front of Oikawa, drawing up from the muck. The Witch of the Lake. Once fully standing, she hovers mere inches from Oikawa’s person. Oil drips from the tendrils of her hair, slides around the contours of her face. She is smothered in so much mud and gross water that her actual facial features can’t be discerned. Strings of gunk connect her fingers to the surface of the lake.

Oikawa gazes at the witch intently, expression unbothered, and steps forward and hugs her. He carefully but firmly wraps his arms around her back, burying his head into the crook of her muddy neck. Shoulders shaking with dry sobs, he whispers,

“Kiyoko, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me.”

The Witch of the Lake doesn’t move for a long time. When she does, her voice is so gravelly and old and tired it rattles Kenma down to the core. Slowly, she cards a hand through Oikawa’s hair and whispers,

_”That is all I ever wanted.”_

Suddenly, the oil begins to slip away. It begins with the Witch, the darkness receding from her features until all that is left is a clean, beautiful woman. She has long black hair and clean tan skin, and she and Oikawa hug each other even tighter as the lake begins to glow. The water ripples, fading until it is left a sparkling blue. Droplets skip out like rocks, leaving trails of pure water in its path, until the entire lake is clean.

Then, Oikawa and Kiyoko turn together, and they gesture to the shore.

“Shall we?”

Kenma flinches and turns at the unfamiliar voice, and freezes. The Waiting Man stands calmly by Akaashi, eyes fond. Akaashi nods frantically, and they move to join Oikawa and the Witch. The coven is whole once again.

“I’m so sorry, Daichi.” Oikawa whispers. He can’t stop crying, sparkling tears dripping down his face and into the water. “It’s all my fault, I—“

“Oh, Oikawa,” Daichi smiles. He cups Oikawa’s jaw gently. “It wasn’t your fault. We never blamed you.”

“We’re so happy you broke the curse,” Kiyoko smiles, and turns to Akaashi. “And now you can finally use your magic.”

Akaashi smiles, wobbly and happy. “I…”

“We don’t have much longer,” Daichi says. He and Kiyoko share a look, warm expressions gracing each of their faces. Kenma is amazed at how calm and peaceful they are. Despite everything they’ve been through, it’s obvious they harbor nothing against their covenmates. Love like that…Kenma wonders if he’ll ever join a coven like that.

Oikawa’s eyes widen. “Stay,” he begs. “We can’t—we can’t do this without you guys. P-please…”

“You can,” Kiyoko murmurs. “You have for quite some time.”

“Besides,” Daichi says. “You know we can’t stay.”

“But we’re finally together again!” Akaashi speaks, voice cracking twice. The pain in his eyes makes Kuroo whimper. “We’re finally…”

Slowly, Daichi and Kiyoko pull out of their desperate grasps. Daichi wraps an arm around Kiyoko’s shoulders, and they lean into each other with warm smiles.

“We’ll always be with you,” he says.

He and Kiyoko wave. And then, they are gone.

 

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

“It’s sooo cool!” Hinata exclaims as he wolfs down his pastry. “I mean, look at him! His hair! And his eyes! He’s like—he’s like a different person!”

“Mm.” Kenma blinks. Hinata talks a lot. He began the friendship with the crow via Oikawa’s rude intrusions on everyone’s personal lives, but it seems this particular case has gone in Kenma’s favor. He still can’t believe it’s already been two weeks since his curse was lifted.

“You know, I’ve heard he took care of the witch of the lake all by himself! He must be super powerful. Of course, _my_ witch and I are going to be stronger than him someday! Unless—“ Hinata’s eyes widen, “do you think someday we’ll be in the same coven?”

Kenma shrugs.

“Oh, yeah! I meant to ask you. Are you staying in town for a while? Because if you are—I mean, if you want to, my coven is still kind of new and we’re wondering if you’d…y’know…want to be in it.”

Kenma looks over Hinata’s shoulder and watches Oikawa drift around the cafe. He stops by Kuroo and Bokuto’s table, where they’ve kidnapped Akaashi for a work break, and the four look incredibly peaceful. Kenma grins as he makes eye contact with Kuroo, who sends him a little wave. Kenma looks back to Hinata. 

“I’m staying in town.” He says. There is not a doubt in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Kenma could not speak, that was the effect of his curse. The way characters treat him in his fic doesn't reflect the way you should treat people who are mute in real life. The way Kenma reacts to his curse doesn't reflect the way people who are mute react to it in real life. He is not mute. He is cursed. Mentally, they are two very different things.


End file.
